Rise of The Snow Elves
by Aeon Hawk
Summary: Ten years after defeating Alduin, Arí witnesses the abduction of Eorlund Gray-Mane. With a wife and son to keep safe from the Thalmor, the Dragonborn has to raise a sword against evil. Yet it was not the suspected Thalmor that kidnapped the blacksmith, but Snow Elves. Who are these Elves? And how in the name of Talos, did they survive centuries without the rest of Nirn knowing?
1. Prologue

**Rise of the Snow Elves**

**Prologue**

The two moons shone bright on that chilly night when Aranel, Queen of the Snow Elves, looked upon the small island where her people were reduced to.

After the Nords had driven them from their lands and the Dwemer enslaved them, her ancestors led a small group of survivors to the sea, sailing north, traveling to the other end of Atmora, and sailing again until they found a small island and a vast mountain, the 'Ice Mountain'. They lived for centuries in peace on that rock of snow and ice, their numbers growing slowly. By the beginning of the fourth era, the population of the Snow Elves had reached over two thousand.

Their island seemed so small compared to their massive homeland. With their numbers growing, the Snow Elves mined into the mountain, finding chasms and riches beyond imagination. They built houses into the thick walls. Soon, they also carved a magnificent palace out of the mountains surface and layered it with ice and snow, that sheltered it from the harsh winds and storms that struck the island often.

The Snow Elves were merely shadows of their former selves in Mereth. They only believed in peace, nothing more. No gods, no Daedric Princes, no religion. It seemed best to only concentrate on stopping their race from becoming extinct. So Aranel believed.

She never raised a hand to those who lost their way from Tamriel. She actually enjoyed their company, marvelled by their stories of a land she never knew of. She insisted on having their 'guests' stay in her palace "until their ship was repaired and their crew found". While in fact, Aranel was keeping them from leaving. She couldn't have her people found out about after so many years of isolation from the rest of Nirn.

But she had another thing in mind.

From an Imperial, who washed ashore a months ago, she learned the history of the Tamriel. Of the Empire. The word was new to her. Empire. She tried it out on her tongue. There was no word for it in her native language. She wondered if she... No, it was impossible. Or was it?

Aranel called her most trusted friend and loyal advisor, Faeron. A few centuries old, he was in his prime years and would soon have to take a wife, as was the law.

"Your Majesty, what can I help you with?"

She smiled at him. "My lord, Faeron, I've heard from my...spies that you've acquired all materials needed for-"

"Yes, milady, however there is a slight problem with the smith."

She gave him an uncanny look. "A problem, Faeron?" His knees buckled with fear. "Milady, none of our smiths have the knowledge to craft our ancient armour, it was lost in time."

She frowned at him. "Is there not any smiths from the time we lived in Mereth?"

"There is, milady, but they seem to have...forgotten. They have all the materials yet it seems their hands will not do what their mind tells them."

Her silver hair blew with the wind, flowing freely across her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

What was the name of the human smith that Breton from Mereth mentioned? Gray-Mane? Eorlund Gray-Mane? Yes, that was it. The greatest blacksmith in Skyrim, the Breton said.

"You are to send your most trusted men to Mereth, Faeron. Ride to the city of Whiterun and there you will find a Nord, Eorlund Gray-Mane. Bring him to me."

Faeron bowed low and left her swiftly. Aranel turned back to her balcony, gazing across her kingdom to the sea. It was possible. A Nord had done it before her...

She wanted an empire of her own.

* * *

The Dragonborn slowly pulled the reins as Whiterun came into view. He turned on the saddle and smiled at Eoghan, his son, who was just a few feet behind him. A young lad of almost eleven summers, he already showed he was to be a great warrior. Arí's smile was returned, but not the beaming, bright smile he received two nights before.

Eoghan was sat down in the living room of Proudspire Manor while Arí explained to him the many dangers of Skyrim beyond the walls of Solitude. His son seemed very bored by the time Kelda, his wife, told him he and his father were to travel to Whiterun together to celebrate Jarl Balgruuf's birthday. Eoghan's face lit up and he gave his parents that beaming, bright smile that they would taunt him for the rest of his life.

They had spent the night in Rokistead, Arí catching up with all the people that he had helped ten years earlier during the time the dragons returned. Eoghan was always fascinated by his father's past life and often asked to hear the times when he saved maidens from bandits and slain dragons with only an iron sword. Arí was quite shy of that life of adventure and not knowing what was to happen next. But he certainly missed it.

It was late morning when they finally reached the gates of Whiterun. Almost immediately, the city guards had recognised the Dragonborn and opened the large, wooden gates without a moments question.

Eoghan was amazed by the city. He watched the old woman, Adrianne shout at her apprentice, a small Redguard girl with short, brown hair. She hammered a steel blade on the anvi, glimpsing up at him. Then, he followed Arí to the cosy house beside the smithy, where a tall Nord woman stood. Cladded in steel armour, she greeted his father with maximum respect.

"My Thane, Arí! It is an honour to see you again. How fare's Lady Kelda?" She almost bowed to the man. He turned and winked at his son before addressing his housecarl: "Lydia, it is also an honour to see you. It's been so long since I've been here. Kelda is faring well. You remember my son, Eoghan." He turned and swung his arm around the boy's shoulders. Lydia fell to her knees in front of Eoghan. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as a few of the citizens had gathered nearby, watching the Dragonborn and his son arrive after many years away.

"It is such a honour to see you, Lord Eoghan!"

His cheeks were now the colour of his mother's fiery, red hair.

Arí was laughing aloud, totally amused. He stopped his son's face from going any redder (which wasn't possible) by ordering Lydia to take the saddle bags that were already craning his arms.

"Welcome to Whiterun," he whispered in Eoghan's ear as they entered Breezehome.

* * *

**The Snow Elves always fascinated me while playing Skyrim. So that got me thinking, what if. What if there were other Snow Elves that survived besides Gelebor and his brother. What if there was some Elves living in a land unknown to the rest of Tamriel? It seemed like a good story, so I thought 'why not?'**

**Just go easy on me in the reviews.**

**-Aeon**

**(By the way, Eoghan is pronounced like Owen. It's an old Irish spelling of the name.)**


	2. Abduction

**Chapter 1**

**Abduction**

After darkness fell, the son of the Dragonborn found himself climbing the steep steps to the Cloud District. Dragonsreach towered before him, its wooden columns creaking in the strong wind. Music and laughter was coming from inside. Eoghan's belly soared with excited: he has never been to a Jarl's feast before.

Once again, he pulled at the collar of his tunic that he considered rather tight compared to the others he'd worn. Arí was dressed in respectable attire; fine, leather boots, a light grey tunic that reached his knees, and a dark, red surcoat. His usually messy, brown hair was combed, and his beard trimmed to a subtle. Eoghan sensed he found his clothes uncomfortable and itchy too.

The great, wooden doors opened and they stepped inside. The hall was filled with Thanes, Jarls and other noblemen and women from around Skyrim. Arí sauntered from one end to the other, many voices calling to him and shouting his name. He retained from blushing like his son earlier that day.

Balgruuf stood from his throne and greeted his friend and ally with open arms. Eoghan stood closely behind as the two exchanged words and his father introduced him to the Jarl. Luckily for him, Balgruuf didn't fall onto his knees and worship him like a god. He merely smiled and rustled the young boy's hair. Eoghan noticed how thick the Nord's blond beard was.

"Master Eoghan, I have heard many things about you. It seems like you will be as great as your father one day," he said, looking down at him. The boy pursed his lips and nodded.

"Hopefully, Balgruuf. He's already capable at handling a sword," Arí nearly shouted over the noise.

"Come. Sit, Dragonborn." Balgruuf gestured to two spare seats to his left. Eoghan sat furtherest from him, beside a young Nord with red hair. They stayed silent as Eoghan filled his plate and cup with food and mead.

"So, you are the Dragonborn's famous son," the red-headed Nord said after several moments of awkwardness.

"Yes," he replied after swallowing down a piece of his cooked pheasant breast.

"I am Nelkir, youngest son of Jarl Bralgruuf the Greater."

"A pleasure," Eoghan said while reaching out and shaking Nelkir's hand like the Imperials do. Nelkir stared at his grease-stained hand, unsure whether it was a compliment or insult.

"Have you a good arm, Eoghan?"

The boy looked at him, confused with the question.

"Well, it isn't broken if that's what you mean."

The son of the Jarl bellowed with laughter. His red hair was drawn across his face as he pressed his index finger and thumb to his temple.

"No, no," he continued to laugh, "Are you good with a sword?". Eoghan grinned, finding what was so funny. "Indeed, I am."

Moments later, he was in friendly battle between the Redguard girl he saw that afternoon with the blacksmith. Her dark eyes were full of bloodlust as they circled around the area that was for those to prove their strength. Eoghan tightened his grip around the hilt of the light, steel sword given to him. Nelkir and a dozen other Nord, Redguard and Breton men and women enclosed the circle, cheering either him or the girl.

She made the first move, slashing her sword down onto him, but he sidestepped and kicked her backside as he skipped away from her. She turned to face him, her jaws locked with annoyance and fury. Eoghan was light on his feet as he danced around the girl, clearly dodging her blade and tiring her out. His father had thought him to use stealth rather than power (in most cases).

He tripped her with a flash of his sword and she knocked flat onto her back. Nelkir and some Nords yelled. The Redguard rolled out of the way as he lashed his blade down onto her. She struggled onto her feet, barely able to deflect Eoghan's blows. Beads of sweat were beginning to gather at her brow.

* * *

"Eleven summers, you say, Arí. Well, I certainly wouldn't believe it if I haven't seen it with my own eyes. He's a talented swordsman," Balgruuf commented as he, Arí and Maven Black-Briar watched the Dragonborn's son fight a Redguard girl.

"Neither would I but I wouldn't say talented, Balgruuf. He was trained by the best swordsman in Skyrim by a young age, I presume," Maven replied. Arí nodded. "Once he was able to walk and run, he had a wooden stick in his hand. Kelda wasn't too happy about it but she was always more of an archer than swords-woman." The two agreed with him.

They continued to watch Eoghan for another five minutes as he used tactics that he obviously learned from his father. By the sixth minute, the Redguard forfeited and he was claimed the winner.

"Who is she?" Arí asked pointing at the girl. Maven snorted. "Some peasant from Markarth. I heard she's that youngest daughter of a silversmith there and came to Whiterun to prove herself worthy or something like that."

"Yes, Adrianne has taken her as her apprentice and has put a roof over her head. Girl arrived last spring after travelling through the winter to reach my city. Starved, tired and sick she was when the guard allowed her into the city," Balgruuf said. Arí said nothing and gazed at the girl as she walked back to her seat, humiliated and hungry.

* * *

Nelkir smiled and placed a tankard of mead into Eoghan's hand. "Now THAT was a fight, young Dovahkiin."

"Thank you, Lord Nelkir. But such a title is not to be bestowed on me as I cannot Shout or absorb any dragon souls."

" Have you ever seen a dragon, Eoghan? Have you ever slain one?"

No, he has never slain one. But once, just once he saw a mighty dragon. Every two months or so, Arí and Kelda travelled the short trip to Dragonsbridge. He went with them every time, enjoying the Haafingar countryside and fresh, crisp air. Kelda and Eoghan would remain near the village, heading down to the river to fish or across the land to hunt. He really loved those times as he saw who his mother truly was.

But Arí... Arí headed up to the mountains north of Dragonsbridge and Shouted. He could wait for hours but he was a patient man. Just once, Eoghan was sitting on the grass when he saw a dragon on the horizon. White and mighty, it flew right over Dragonsbridge and to the mountains. He asked Kelda about it and she replied that his father was a friend to that dragon he saw. The dragon had helped him defeat Alduin.

He told this to Nelkir. Not caring who heard or not. And Nelkir believed him.

"You are truly a remarkable boy, Eoghan," he said and smiled back at him.

* * *

Eorlund gathered the last of the Skyfkrge steel weapons he had forged earlier for the Companions and made his way down to Jorrvaskr. Leaving them with Ria, he walked past the Shrine of Talos, stopping to pray and thank the god for another safe day. The noise was booming from Dragonsreach. Eorlund was invited to the Jarl's feast, but declined as he heard rumours that the Battle- Borns were also attending.

He strolled to the curtain wall that overlooked the plains of Whiterun. Wolfs, deer and mammoths roamed the land. All had a purpose: born, live and die. That was how the blacksmith saw life. It was the last two that really mattered though.

"Eorlund Gray-Mane?"

He hearda voice with a strange, funny accent behind him and turned. An Altmer with snow white skin and silver hair stood there, along with several others. They all wore black robes that clung to their bodies. Two were clearly women.

"I know him. Who's asking?"

"I am Faeron. You must come with us."

Thalmor! He almost shouted the word out.

"Did you see me pray to that shrine? Is that why you're here, because I prayed to Talos?"

The elf frowned. "I have no care about your religion, Nord. And I certainly do not know who this 'Talos' is. We only seek your service." Eorlund slowly stepped back from them, hitting the wall. "My service? What do you want with my service?"

"We want you to craft some armour and weapons for us. We will pay very nicely also."

"Ah! Don't give me that cheap crap! I will NEVER forge for any Thalmor!"

Faeron sighed, somewhat regretting what he was about to do. "Very well." He nodded to one of the other elves and within a blink of the eye, Eorlund was on his knees; hand bounded behind his back and hood over his head.

"Come on, I want to be back by the end of the week."

Then, Eorlund fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Is the young lad tired already, Dovahkiin?" Balgruuf asked as Arí was beginning to leave the palace with a sleeping Eoghan on his back.

"All warriors need their rest," replied Arí wisely. The Jarl nodded, bid them farewell and thanked them for coming. As he left, many called his name as a guard opened one of the doors for him.

Walking down the steep steps and into the Wind District, Arí noticed several black figures coming towards him. He stopped, laid Eoghan on the bench beneath the tree and approached them.

"Good evening, gentlemen-"

He saw the recognisable body of Eorlund Gray-Mane slung over one of their shoulders. He looked at their leader in shock, and he was even more shocked when he realised what species they were.

Snow Elves! He never forgot when he encountered the supposed last Snow Elf, the Knight-Paladin Gelebor.

"Move along now, Nord, as our business is done here and we wish to return home," said the leader quickly, like he was as anxious to leave. Arí drew his sword. "What do you want with Eorlund?"

"Merely his services," replied the Snow Elf, smiling. Arí striked the Elf, but the blow deflected off a hidden bracer the Elf had. He summoned a Fireball and blasted back the Dragonborn back, crushing his body against the trunk of the tree.

"Father!"

Eoghan, having awaken, scrambled to his father. Taking up the sword, he pointed it at the elves. The leader raised his hand to him, building up the fire.

"Faeron," warned one of the Elven women behind him. Faeron lowered his hand, smiling at the boy. "I believe it is against our law to harm a child. Fortunately for you, the same law applies in Mereth." He turned on his heel and left, the others following him with Eorlund.

Eoghan fell onto his knees. He had never been so terrified in his life. The sword dropped beside him, clattering on the stone. Who were those Elves?


	3. The Aftermath

**Chapter 2**

**The Aftermath**

Lydia handed Arí the cold venison. He stared at it, unsure what to do. Then he yelled out when she took it back and pressed it against the side of his head. Eoghan sat in front of the fire, still unnerved by his experience. They stayed in silence for most of the night, thinking about Eorlund and the Snow Elves.

By early morning, Jarl Balgruuf had arrived with Calcelmo (who was also invited to his feast). The Dragonborn told them all he could remember, Eoghan finishing the account saying the leader, Faeron spoke about a law against harming children and then left.

"A law against harming children. They must have small numbers then," said Calcelmo.

Arí nodded. "Well, they were on the brink of extinction. Except for Gelebor, there is no other Snow Elf."

"Not that we know of." The wizard took a small notebook out of his satchel. "Falmer legends tell of a land, far to north, beyond Atmora, supposing at the Top of the World, where a beautiful woman came from and gave them their kingdom around Mereth- Skyrim."

"Could that be where they went to all those years ago?" asked Balgruuf.

"Possibly, but it should be far from Tamriel."

"Is there any sailors who have seen this...land?"

Calcelmo shook his head. "I don't think so, no." Arí straightened in his chair. "What would they want with Eorlund Gray-Mane?"

"He's a smith. Obviously to forge something."

Eoghan yawned, exhausted from being awake for most of the night. He headed upstairs and fell asleep in his father's bedroom. Arí watched him go, and wouldn't have minded getting some shut eye either.

"Would you call upon this Gelebor, Thane Arí?"

He looked at the Jarl and frowned. "I don't know, Balgruuf. He's not exactly...an outgoing Elf."

"I'll at least send a courier and several guards to let him know of the situation."

The Dragonborn, lost in thought, stared into the burning embers before him. Could Snow Elves really have survived these thousands of years? How did that Elf, Faeron as Eoghan said, come to speak Cyrodilic?

"Thank you, Jarl, Calcelmo. I appreciate you taking some time to come." He stood, giving the hint for them to go, and grasped their hands as they left through the door.

"Oh, Thane Arí," the Altmer said, stopping in the doorframe. "Take care of that boy. He may be strong at arm, but is he strong at heart?"

Arí smiled politely and waved goodbye, watching the Jarl head up the steps with an armed escort and Calcelmo slowly walking behind them. He stepped back inside, locking the door.

"What do you think of all this, Lydia?"

The housecarl strolled over to the bookshelf and fetched out a journal. "Well, my lord. If these Elves took Eorlund, like the wizard said, they want him to forge them something. I would suggest they want war."

He gazed at the book in her hand. Gallus's journal. The Nightingale imprint on the cover was clearly visible. "Why would they want war?"

"Against the race that took their lands from them. The Dwarves are all extinct, so that only leaves us Nords."

Arí gulped. "They may settle here if they wish. All races live in Skyrim: Nord, Orc, Bosmer, Argonians..."

"But will they accept being the province being ruled by Men?"

"There are other lands-"

"But this is their homeland," she said. Damn, she makes arguments hard to win, he thought. Lydia gave him he journal. "You could offer them a peace treaty."

Arí opened it, observing the strange writing in front of him. Maybe she had a point.

* * *

Eoghan found his father sleeping, sprawled out across the dining table. A quill and piece of paper laid beneath his hand. The boy lifted it, snatching the paper and placing the limb down gently not to disturb his father. He sat on one of the chairs in front of the fire and began reading the letter, as it turned out to be.

_'My dearest Kelda_

_Things have turned out strangely, here at Whiterun. Balgruuf's feast was a right ol' laugh but it was afterwards that marred the merry mode. A band of Snow Elves have abducted Eorlund Gray-Mane. I tried to stop them but their magic proved too strong. Our son witnessed the small 'struggle' and has identified one of them as 'Faeron'._

_By the Nine, my love, the boy was very shaken by the account. He barely said a word when the Jarl and Calcelmo arrived, except when he told them of what he remembered. I wish of you to journey south to us as I plan to take another voyage for the sake of Tamriel...'_

That was as far as he had written. Eoghan reread it several times, disgusted by the fact his father was leaving on an adventure and he had to stay behind. He sat silently on the chair, thinking of his mother.

Beautiful Kelda, they called her. She was beautiful. Long red hair, when it waved in the wind, it reminded him of flames in a fireplace. Her bright, grey eyes told that she was strong, and she wasn't willing to go down without a fight. They were full of concentration when she took him on the hunting trips they had. She never missed a deer, always seeing them before they sensed her.

From what Eoghan had seen, the plains outside Whiterun were ripe with deer, so the Bosmer claimed who sold meat and fish in the marketplace. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea if she came.

He left his father asleep and went outside. The sun shone brightly through the clouds. He could hear a grindstone turning at the smithy. He ventured down there, meeting the Redguard girl he fought the night before.

"Hello," he said a little nervous. She gazed at him for a few brief moments and answered, "Hello."

"What's your name?"

"Naimra. You're Eoghan, the Dragonborn's son."

He nodded. At Adrianne's orders, the girl picked up some kindle and tossed it into the forge, Eoghan following her.

"You had very nice battle tactics last night," he said, trying to make conversation.

"Thank you. You had too, if I may say."

He leaned against a pole, watching her work. "You were taught by a man." She stopped and looked at him. "How do you know?" He had caught her interest.

"It was obvious in the way you moved. You were taught by a heavier man and, therefore, move like a heavier man. You're a very lithe girl, you should've use your weight to your advantage."

She gave him a small grin. "Thanks for the advice."

"Happy to help."

Naimra placed her hammer onto the anvil. "Where are you from?"

Eoghan almost jumped in joy. The girl was willing to start a friendship. He straightened up. "Solitude."

"I'm from Markarth. My father was a silversmith there. He was training my older sister to take over his family business and had little plans for me. I was to tend to the stall. So I ran away here, where I can put my blacksmithing skills to better use."

"You could've come to Solitude. The Legion is always looking for blacksmiths."

"Nah! I had enough Septims for a cart to get me as far as Rorikstead, and from there, I travelled to Whiterun. I arrived in the spring; sick, tired and hungry. Adrianne and her husband took me in. I owe them a great debt I wish to repay by working for them."

Eoghan smiled at her story. He was certainly going to make friend out of her.

* * *

Aranel slowly descended from her palace into the caverns. The passages were brightly lit by magelights hovering along the stone walls. Whenever she passed them, they shone brighter.

At the end of the stone corridor, the sound of running water echoed. The Quern skipped towards it, glee filling within her. The passage opened up into a massive cave. A waterfall fell from a secret source, where ice and snow melted into water, and crashed down into the pool, where the Elves took their daily water supples from.

Children played in the pool, stripping off their furs to reveal light, cotton tunics and dresses that they wore beneath. The water was warm, heated by gigantic fires under the rock. Mages of both the schools of Conjuration and Destruction worked to maintain the water's warmth.

Aranel unclipped the silver brooch that kept her cloak on her shoulders and let it fall into the hands of her handmaidens. She approached the pool, sitting at its rim and dipping her slim fingers in it. She pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Faeron was returning with the Nord. From what her spies had told her, they would be reaching Winterhold within two days and then will travel the ice sheets until they reached their boots.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a young girl approached her.

"Good afternoon, milady," said the child. Her white hair was braided down her back, snowdrops (the only flower that grew on the island) tangled in her locks. Aranel recognised her immediately.

"Good afternoon, Dathlue."

Dathlue was the youngest child and only daughter of the Grandmatser of her spies, Katyr. She hd met the child before. A delightful thing, always smiling and happy.

"How are you today, my dear?"

"Missing my father as much as my brothers. They're off with on a raid to lost ships and won't return until next week."

"Oh, that's a pity. It must be awful quiet back at home."

Dathlue's face beamed like a magelight. "Mother doesn't mind, she's quite happy with the solitude."

The Queen chuckled. "I bet she is."

"How are you faring, milady. You seem busy lately."

"I am. We'll be receiving a very special guest soon. A Nord blacksmith. The best in Mereth they say!"

"I hope he likes it here, the island is somewhat a paradise," Dathlue said, curtsying, "If you excuse me, milady, I promised my mother I will help her with supper." Aranel smiled, bowing her head. "Goodbye, Dathlue." She waved at the little girl who ran off, a broad smile on her face.

She is so innocent in the world of dangers, thought the Elf, falling back into the pool.


	4. Karliah

**Chapter 3**

**Karliah**

Kelda was welcomed by Lydia, whom she hadn't seen in over a decade. The two women embraced one another as old friends and entered the house. Arí stood from his chair, kissing his wife and holding her tight in his arms.

"I've missed you!"

"It's only been five days!" she replied, chuckling, "Where's Eoghan?"

"With his new friend. Come." He led her over to the table, where various maps if Skyrim and Nirn were spread out. She stared at them, holding back her red hair from her face.

"What are you exactly planning, Arí? You didn't quite mention this in your letter."

"Look, Kelda. If I can form an embassay, to travel to the settlement of the Snow Elves and offer them a peace treaty on behalf of Skyrim-"

"Where did you get this idea?"

He nodded at Lydia. Kelda raised her eyes to the heavens, sighing deeply. "And what about the Thalmor. They've been watching us since you defeated Alduin."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of my plan!" He dug deep within the piles of paper on the table and withdrew five pieces, each with a name, hand drawn picture and other of Arí's scribbles.

"The Thalmor don't have their greedy, little - well, large hands in some of Skyrim's organisations. The Dark Brotherhood, Nightingales, Blades, the College of Winterhold and Companions."

"Who do you expect to recruit from these organisations? You, you, you, you and you?"

The Dragonborn frowned and shook his head. "No. Please, look, Kelda."

She took the parchments from him and examined the first. "Delphine? In the name of Kynareth, Arí, she's almost seventy!"

"Did that stop her ten years ago helping me defeat Alduin?"

"But that was _ten years_ ago!"

They became silent. Arí took the pages from her, not wanting her to see the rest.

"If the Thalmor find out about this, my love, where will Eoghan and I hide?" Kelda asked after several moments of silence.

"The safest place in Skyrim."

"Oh sweet Divines, not the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. I won't let our son go near Cicero..."

"No, no. I was thinking Sky Haven Temple," he replied. She raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Or we could go there."

"If that fails, you'll be moved to Nightingale Hall, and then to the sanctuary if that fails too. At least, that will be the last of your worries."

She smiled, holding onto the back of his neck and pulling him closer for a kiss. "That's why I married you, you always have a 'Plan B'."

He frowned. "I thought it was of my good looks, adventurous spirit, courage and marksmanship?"

She laughed, "Those too!", and kissed him firmly.

* * *

Eoghan walked towards the gates of Riften, moving closer to his mother as the gate guard stared down at him. Arí had changed into his old Thieves Guild armour before they left Whiterun, and he realised how...uh...bigger he had gotten in the last ten years of raising Eoghan and living as a regular citizen.

The gate guard greeted the Dragonborn with overwhelming respect. He fumbled at the bundle of keys, all excited that the former Guildmaster has returned from his retirement. The guard opened the gates, slightly jumping up and down, and Eoghan traipsed into Riften now clinging onto his mother's skirt.

"Riften. Nothing has changed," Kelda grumbled under her breath. Arí lightly tapped her hand as Sibbi Black-Briar approached them.

"Why, ain't it the Dragonborn family! What brings you back to this _delightful_ city?"

"Business, Sibbi. What else?"

There was a quick glare into the Black-Briar's eyes, and his icy blue eyes flickered to Kelda. Her eyes narrowed at him, pulled Eoghan closer to her and rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger. Sibbi smirked and left without another word.

"I always hated this city, and always will."

"There's not one person here that will disagree," replied Arí grimly. He lead the way to Temple of Mara, suddenly feeling the gold ring on his left ring finger. He grinned back at his wife and she smiled back at him. Arí walked into the graveyard towards the tomb.

Eoghan watched as his father pressed the circle in the middle of a diamond engraved into a large tomb. There was a sound of gears clicking against other and several seconds later, the tomb moved backwards and fitted perfectly into the wall. Eoghan looked into the empty space, seeing stairs and a manhole.

"Come on," Arí muttered, climbed down the steps and into the Cistern.

"Arí!"

Eoghan stared at a red-headed Nord embrace his father and squeeze him tight. His mother was giggling silently and also hugged the Nord.

"Oh, Brynjolf! It's so good to see you again," she chimed. Brynjolf, cladded in black Thieves Armour smiled at her.

"You too, lass. Ye're lookin' as beautiful as always. This isn't yer Eoghan, is it? Name's Brynjolf, lad."

The boy shook his big hand. "A pleasure."

"And he has yer manners, Kelda! Karliah owes me fifty Septims now."

Arí chuckled and clicked his fingers. "That's what I came here for, Bryn. Is Karliah around?"

"Aye, she's in the Trainin' Room."

"Will you take Eoghan into the Flagon, we need to talk to her alone."

"Aye. Come on, lad. Business is too borin' for a youngling like you. I'll buy you some mead."

Brynjolf placed his hand on Eoghan's shoulder and lead him into the Ragged Flagon. The boy looked back at his parents, with a look of uncertainty on his face. Kelda nodded and Arí gave him a thumbs up. He pursed his lips and followed the thief.

Karliah was shooting arrows at the several targets in the chamber. Her blue eyes were full of concentration, black hair tied up into a tight bun and her fingers numb from drawing back the bow string. When Kelda and Arí arrived in the stone archway, she paid them no heed at first and only did her last arrow pierced the dead centre of a dummy, she turned to face them.

"Nice to know ye're not dead yet." She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve.

"Nice to see you too, Karliah," Arí replied. They shared a brief moment of silence and all broke with laughter. The Dunmer tossed her bow onto a table and slipped her quiver down her arm.

"It's been too long, Arí. And Kelda!" The two women embraced. They caught on the last decade being apart, telling each other the gossip and drama of late. Finally, Karliah turned back to the Dragonborn.

"What brings ye here, Arí?"

He took a long, deep breath and began his long, slow story of the Snow Evles. She listened intently and carefully, nodding occasionally. By the end of five minutes, Karliah stared at them curiously.

"And why did ye come here?"

"Arí wants to form an embassay to travel to the settlement of these Falmer and offer them a peace treaty or something."

The Dunmer looked at Arí. "And you want me to tag along with your party?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Who else is going?"

"You're the first."

She smirked. "I'm flattered."

"You should be, I trust you the most."

The smirk turned to a smile. She looked from man to wife and back again. "Alright, I'm in."

* * *

Eoghan spat back the mead. He reacted by coughing and gasped for water. The Flagon roared with laughter. Vekel slammed a cup of water in front him.

"This is all the water we have, son."

"Where's it from?" asked the boy.

"The pool."

He choked some more. Delvin dragged his chair closer to him and rested his elbow on the boy's shoulder. "Are you good with sneaking, lad." Eoghan looked at him curiously.

"He'll never work here, Delvin," Arí said, standing behind his son, arms folded and a frown on his face. The Breton moved away from them.

"You okay, Eoghan?"

He looked up at his father and nodded vigorously. "Are we going _now_?"

The Dragonborn almost laughed at him and failed to keep an amused grin off his lips. "Come on, let's go home." They headed out of the Flagon into the Cistern. There, Kelda and Karliah, with her bag of belongings and bow in her hand, waited for them. As Eoghan first laid his eyes on her, he was immediately dazed by her blue eyes.

"Hello," she said to him, holding out her hand. He shoke it calmly and replied quietly, "Hello." She smiled at him, her eyes lighting up.

"So, we're going back to Whiterun and Arí is travelling to Winterhold. Agreed?" asked Kelda. They nodded, left the Cistern and walked together to the stables. The couple hugged and kissed each other one last time. Arí was to travel cross-country to the north and Kelda, Karliah and Eoghan would return to Whiterun and prepare for the embassay.

As the Nightengale paid the fare, Eoghan turned to his mother. "Will he be okay?"

She frowned and ruffled his hair. "Of course! He's the Dragonborn, for Talos's sake!"

Despite her words, the young Nord feared for the worst to come.

* * *

**And that's a rap! So happy my parnet's are outta town, I've loads of time today to finish this besides being nagged at to clean my room or some other thing I don't listens to ;P**

**Like to thank Fallen Vanguard, teB360 and 'Guest' for reviewing :)**

**If there's any mistakes I missed, please excuse them, the iPad's autocorrect is VERY stubborn.**

**Anyway, R&R**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	5. College of Winterhold

**Chapter 4**

**College of Winterhold**

Arí looked ahead through the thick blizzard that blew around him. The settlement of Winterhold was a ghost town, except for the two guards the patrolled from the edge of town to the college's bridge. Most residents had retired to the Frozen Hearth Inn, several voices sang (well…more like roared) over the faint sound of the lute. It was 'Ragnar the Red' that was being played.

"_Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole' Rorickstead_," Arí chanted as he dragged his legs through the knee-high snow. After leaving his family and Karliah at Riften, he travelled for a day to Windhelm, spent the night and most of the morning there, and then walked along the eastern coast of Skyrim towards Winterhold. Once the college came into sight, he climbed the icy cliff-face and arrived at the town via the main road.

"_And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made_," he continued as he strolled casually along the bridge. He grinned to himself as he remembered the times he had there. When J'zargo's alchemy experiment blew up in the cat's face, and when Drevis Neloren thought he was invisible whereas actually only his clothes were.

The iron gates opened before him and the magelights brightened up as he stepped past them.

"Look out!"

The Dragonborn dived in behind a pillar on his right as fire exploded from the square. Once the flames had retracted, he removed hastily his cloak, dropped it into the snow and stomped on the aflame sleeve. He glared up, looking from one mage to another. They seemed as confused as he was, all standing up now and brushing the snow off their robes.

"Who did that?"

The yell came from the entrance of the Hall of Elements. Tiawyn, the young Bosmer who earned her role as Arch-Mage of the college five years ago, stood between the open doors and stared down at everyone with sharp scarlet eyes. A hair clip clattered against the stone pavement.

"Well?"

"Excuse me, Arch-Mage?" Arí pushed forward through the dazed mages to Tiawyn. Her features softened as she greeted her predecessor.

"Arí, what an unlikely surprise! Please excuse that little 'accident', I'll take care out that later. Come inside from the cold, I'm sure I can whip up some warm mead."

He followed her inside the Hall of Elements and up the spiral, stone staircase to her chamber. She bade him to sit as she gathered some ingredients from a chest.

"Do you want some spices added, Arí?" she asked, head buried deep in the chest.

"No, thank you."

She grunted and hurried to the alchemy lab. A few minutes later, she produced two mugs of ale and half-skipped half-walked to him.

"Here you go," she beamed, handing the Dragonborn a mug of warm ale. He thanked her and took a slug out of it. _Nice_, he thought, _best ale I ever tasted_. They sat in silence, sipping their drinks.

"Right, down to business," Arí said, slamming the mug onto the table. Tiawyn sighed. "How did I know you are here only for that? I think the life of a thief has really dwelled with you."

"How...?"

She chuckled. "I have my own sources."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "The Snow Elves have returned."

"I know."

The room suddenly became cold. He looked down into his ale. Only a seconds ago, steam rose from it... Now, frost was beginning to appear at the top. The mer stayed perfectly still, her gaze dropped to the floor and her breathing quickened.

The door opened and a hooded figure entered into the room. He pushed back his hood, revealing long white hair, pale skin and bright grey eyes. Arí caught his breath.

"_You_!"

* * *

Kelda watched as Karliah taught her son the different kinds of herbs and roots used to brew a poison. She wasn't keen on the idea, but the boy was distracted with his father away. Karliah was doing her a favour and maybe one day it could save his life.

"_But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red, when he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said_..." She suddenly felt like singing that popular bard song Arí always hummed. She smiled to herself, thinking of the times when she found herself sad and gloomy, Arí would lift her into his arms and swing her around, belting the tune out.

She missed those days, when they were young an had all the time in the world.

The Dragonborn's wife looked to the stairs where Lydia descended from, her armor removed and replaced with a burgundy tunic, brown leggings and leather boots. She didn't seem to notice Kelda and continued out of the house, swinging a quiver of arrows over her shoulder and picking up the wooden bow from behind a barrel.

"I'm going hunting, milady. Thane Arí will need meat for the journey to...wherever he is going."

"Take along Eoghan, will you. Here," she handed the housecarl a small bow, crafted by herself, "he can hunt too."

With a quick bow, she left and Karliah entered, a sack full of phials of potions and poisons.

"He's fairly well gifted with alchemy," she said, relaxing into an armchair.

"He's gifted at almost everything," Kelda replied. The Dunmer tugged off her mud-caked boots and gazed calmly at her. "What?"

"Why do I get a horrid feeling that Arí is in trouble?"

* * *

Faeron pointed his shortsword at the Nord, its tipped following him as he stood from his chair. He glared at the Arch-Mage. "How could you?"

"The college is at stake when they first arrived... They threatened to destroy our college, killing all mages along with it. I'm sorry, Arí..."

Tiawyn was sobbing now, tears streaming down her cheeks. The Nord's shoulder dropped, his structure like a warrior defeated in an argument.

"If you're finished with your dramatic scenes, I have business to take care of," Faeron said, turning his blade, "Nord, get moving."

"I have a name."

The Snow Elf stepped closer to him, the edge of his sword resting against his throat. "So, did my sister! And still your kind cut her down as she tried to flee!"

"My name is Arí. I am the son of Legate Joric, famed war hero of the Great War. I was born and raised in the Imperial City and travelled to Skyrim to seek a life in my fatherland. Captured in an ambush, I was taken to Helgen to be executed until Alduin, the World-Eater, attacked and I learned I am Dragonborn-"

"Dragonborn? What is this title to me?"

The Nord straightened, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath, and... "FUS RO DAH!"

A force of some kind swarmed to Faeron, throwing him off his feet. He was blown back, smashed through the window and, fortunately for him, landed on a pile of snow. He pushed himself up, cursing and brushing the snow off his robe. The wind and snow whirled around him, the temperature dropping even further.

"Aranel won't like this," he murmured to himself and stormed back to the Hall of Elements.

As the Snow Elf shattered the glass behind him, Arí grabbed Tiawyn's wrist and pulled her along with him to the spiral staircase of the right, leading to the top of the building.

"Let me go! I deceived you! I could have led you to your death!" the Bosmer squealed as she tried to break his grip. He turned round and placed his hands around her face. "But you didn't. Tiawyn, I _need_ you to come with me to the Snow Elves' settlement. You know their language, you can help me convince them to make peace with Tamriel."

More tears spilled from her golden-brown eyes and she whispered, "Okay." He planted a kiss on her forward and ran over to the edge. The waves whipped each other aggressively, their dark color reminding Arí of a void. He lifted his leg onto the wall and then the other. Tiawyn did the same, holding onto his strong arm.

"Whatever you do, don't let go of my hand," he yelled against the wind that rammed into them, begging them not to jump. They did.

The Arch-Mage's robe blew over her face, her arms raised from the power of the air and her hand clung onto Arí's. They fell quickly, accelerating while they drew closer to the sea. Tiawyn shut her eyes as her feet crashed on the surface.

* * *

"Eorlund! Welcome!" Aranel greeted the blacksmith with open arms. He stared at her, unsure what to do. The queen was dressed in a black dress that hugged her slim figure, her hair flowed like a waterfall of silver from her shoulders and a sword of a strange combination of ebony and silver hung at her waist.

"How was the journey?"

His eyes never left hers. "Journey? I was _abducted_! By filthy Thalmor! Why am I here?!" He stepped towards her and in response, her bodyguards moved into positioned around their queen.

"Thalmor? My dear Nord, I do not understand such a word. We, Eorlund, are Snow Elves, the remaining of what your ancestors have left us as. Why you are here, well, I wish to employ you."

"To do what?"

Aranel shoved her guards aside, unsheathed her sword and cut his bounds. He relaxed and massaged his wrists.

"To forge me armor and weapons, so that I may rule the land that was once my people's."

* * *

**Well, I'd say that was a good two hours spent writing this. **

**Tiawyn is one of my 'other Dragonborns', like most players have other files. I was gonna pick another member of the college but I couldn't chose! No one seemed right! And Tiawyn it is. **

**OK, so forgive any mistakes that I've missed, I'm really tired.**

**R&R (cause I love the reviews!)**

**-Aeon**


	6. Of Blades and Assassins

**Chapter 5**

**Of Blades and Assassins**

It was a cold, dreary night in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. Babette was stirring up some deadly poisons, Cicero hummed and danced around the Night Mother as he cleaned her, and the few victims in the torture room screamed as Maxima hung one of them by his own intestines. To Nazir, this was a regular routine for the Dark Brotherhood. He lounged in the main hall, his feet up on the table, where his latest target's head sat, eyes rolled into their sockets and tongue stinking out in a hideous way. Nazir smiled to himself, thinking what an excellent the head would be if he sent it to his target's daughter for her tenth birthday.

The Redguard looked to the upper floor as the sound of blades clashing against each other. Through the bars, he saw Cicero draw his dagger and attack the visitors, letting out his high-pitched battle cry.

"Cicero! Stop!" Babette yelled. Lightning crackled and magicka blasted the jester into the bars, creating a large dent in several. Instinct took over Nazir, he sprinted up the steps towards the trespassers and unsheathed his scimitar.

"Listener!"

The tallest of the two intruders pushed his hood back. Damp, curly hair clung to his head's crown and blood-shot, blue eyes stared into the Redguard's dark ones.

"Listener, welcome!"

Tiawyn was taken away by the vampire child and an Imperial, Maxima, to the sleeping quarters and was given dry, clean robes and shoes.

After leaping into the sea, the small Wood Elf made a vow that she will never _ever_ follow Arí's lead _again_, and she had reasons why. Firstly, it was _Arí_ that let go of her hand and she forgot to mention she couldn't swim...and she began drowning. Secondly, by the time he reached and hauled her to the surface, a strong current had carried them away from the coast. Thirdly, she was so close to roasting him alive when she realized how icy cold the water was, yet she dismissed the thought as a fisherman's boat rescued them and sailed to Dawnstar.

Now, she was here among the legendary Dark Brotherhood. They were nothing like she ever anticipated... Well, she had an idea.

Tiawyn followed Maxima and Babette back into the main hall where the Redguard, jester and Arí sat around the table. The women and child took a seat among them.

The Arch-Mage observed the assassins. Nazir, the Redguard, as her idea: dark, mysterious...and sexy. His mystic eyes were _very_ alluring and his breeches were _so_ tight, she could...

'_Stop looking, Tiawyn!_' she mentally snapped at herself, and moved her gaze to Maxima. The young Imperial seemed like a very cheerful person. She was always smiling, or either grinning, which made her round cheeks look even rounder. Her was short, stopping above her shoulders but long enough to tie up in a small, cute ponytail, and curly, its color the same as ebony metal. Her big eyes were like two yellow orbs that twinkled in the candle light.

"That's quite a tale, Listener. How are we supposed to believe this?" the vampire child said, glimpsing at Tiawyn with hungry eyes, a slight lick of the lips too.

"_Trips and tales of the heroes, oh, they all die by a blade and all so exciting_," the jester sang to himself.

Arí sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. He fixed his eyes on Tiawyn. "We were attacked at the College of Winterhold, and managed to escape with our lives-"

"_Oh, the mages have many ways to kill! How fun it to be a mage! He he he he!_"

"... Might I just add, there will be a lot of killing and stabbing if I fail... And I'll need a skilled and artistic fighter among my embassy," Arí stated, an amused look on his face. The Wood Elf gaped at him with shock and astonishment. Her predecessor was...an assassin? She didn't understand why they called him 'Listener', now, she assumed it was a rank.

Nazir lips curved into a cruel smile. "You should have said so, Listener. So, Cicero and I will travel to your headquarters at Whiterun, agreed?"

"You will take Tiawyn with you too, of course."

"Of course, whatever you say!"

"Then, it is agreed."

Tiawyn casted a glare at the Dragonborn, slouching back into her chair and a scowl on her face.

"_Oh! Oh! Maybe Cicero will go to Jorrvaskr and dance for the Companions! They'll... Um... On second thought... maybe not__!_"

And she was to travel with _that_ madman! A quick glance at Nazir showed her she was not the only one with the same thought. But, how bad can it be?

* * *

The great landscape of the Reach loomed before the dark figure. Snow sprinkled from the grey clouds high above, strange weather for the summer in western Skyrim. Few roamed the roads. Fewer Forsworn scouted the hills and cliffs. As if the return of the Snow Elves had corrupted the climate in Skyrim.

The lone traveler's hood was blown back by the powerful was an Altmer, with jet black hair, smoothed back and black eyes like a void, empty and emotionless. His skin hadn't the same golden hue but a darker golden tone.

The two black orbs gazed out to the road leading east, searching. The Elf had waited for a few days, braced against the strong gale and freezing air. He blew out his cheeks and crawled back into his hiding place. His gloved hands stiffened their grip on the ebony bow and he charged his feet into a more comfortable position.

"Akatosh, it's cold!" he mumbled with a Summerset Isle accent. With his free hand, he pulled his cloak across his shoulders and relaxed on the wet patch of grass.

An hour went by, then another and another. The snow was beginning to stick on the ground and it fell more fiercely from the sky. Out of boredom, the High Elf watched his breath float away as he exhaled.

If Karliah had been exact with the details, he would have found her friend and escorted them, and whoever were their companions, back to Whiterun by tomorrow. Her 'friend' as she said was a Nightingale, or had been, he didn't know what deal was struck with Nocturnal to retire from the Trinity. This 'friend' seemed a rather mysterious person, whether man or mer, he would be...polite as Karliah put it.

"_Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead, n__ow I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!_"

The mer stiffened at the bard song. How many noses had he broken when a drunkard thought they'd serenade him with that idiotic song? He lowered the branch of the juniper tree blocking him, and peered at the Nord strolling down the road. A large sack hung from his shoulders, a very, very, large sack.

The High Elf's stomach rumbled at the thought of fresh food. His eyes dropped down to the stale bread that sat unwanted by his side. He took a long, deep breath, fitted his mask on and crept out of the trees. The Nord neither saw nor heard him coming and as he pointed the tip of his blade at his back, the Nord's knees buckled.

"The sack, give it to me!" the High Elf exclaimed, already gripping its strings.

"Please, good sir, spare my life!"

He pulled the sack from the Nord and an elbow lashed out into his jaw, stunning him. His blade dropped from his hand and he was swept off his feet. With a big _thud_, the Altmer landed sorely on his backside.

"You under estimated me..._Nightingale_,"the Nord sneered, taking a dagger from his boot and pressing it against the Nightingale's heart. "Speak now before I send you to Nocturnal's embrace! Who are you?"

"My name is none of your concern."

He chuckled. "Arrogant _and_ impetuous. I think it _is_ my concern when _Karliah_ sent you."

"Karliah? You are Karliah's friend?" A long pause. "Sweet Akatosh, you have a way of introducing yourself!"

Arí chuckled again and withdrew his knife. "So, will you tell me your name or will I continue calling you 'Nightingale'?"

"Koren is fine."

Arí extended his arm and pulled him onto his feet. "Nice to meet you, Koren."

Koren removed his mask and hood, tensing as the Dragonborn stared at his features. He knew folk found his 'darkness' strange and unnatural, and most thought him to be cursed. It was his father's fault, having angered the Aldmeri Dominion and brought shame to the family. When Koren, his youngest and only son was born with the black hair and eyes, the Thalmor thought it was the Eight cursing his father for speaking against them. Koren grew up to the looks and whispers of pity. His father was executed, his family stripped of their estate and he was taken from his mother and given to a family mixed deeply into the Dominion...

"Please, don't stare."

"I'm sorry. You're very intriguing..."

"I am cursed-"

"You can be blessed too. I am Dragonborn, blessed with the Thu'um and cursed with defeating Alduin."

There was a hint of a small smile on the Elf's lips.

"Now, I have a small trip before returning to Whiterun. Care to join me?" Arí asked, picking up his sack and swinging it around his shoulders. He tossed an apple to Koren, and the Nord and Altmer walked down the road.

They climbed the rocks to the Karthspire, unseen by the Forsworn that were not even there, solved the puzzles left by the Blades and both stared at the building of Sky Haven Temple. A woman was standing by the giant, stone face, cladded to the teeth in armour and weapons. As they drew closer to her, Koren saw she was a Breton and quite old.

"Delphine..." Arí began before she raised a gloved hand.

"Don't say a word, Dragonborn, I am packed and set to go. Glasha has enough food to last for months, Nero is setting up tents and bed rolls as we speak and Esbern lives still. Now, can we get going?"

Koren and Arí shared a look of amusement before turning around and walking out the way they came.

"She's very organised, isn't she," Koren whispered to Arí.

"I haven't even mentioned where we're going. Never mind that, I didn't tell her about anything."

"I have my ways, Arí!" the old woman called forward as she struggled with her heavy sack.

"Want a hand with that, Delphine?"

"You think I'm _that_ old, Dragonborn?! I can handle it!"

"Whatever you say, Delphine, whatever you say."

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, I had a bit of a writer's block (which is why I'm not so happy about this chapter), I was away for a few days and was a bit ill. Thoughts on this chapter? REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! (Also, I'd like to thank skyflower51, my good friend jade24601, teB360, and copperheart for reviewing, you guys are AWESOME!)**

**There were a few new characters, Maxima and Koren. Koren, one of my 'Dragonborns' and he'll be a very important character...soon. As with Maxima, she was my Dark Brotherhood Murderer from Oblivion.**

**I had great fun with Cicero! If his sayings I came up with are shit, feel free to share it with me and I'm more than happy to accept some sayings.**

**That's all from me, just one more to recruit in the next chapter and Arí's embassy will be off.**

**Thanks again for the reviews :D**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	7. The Embassy

**Chapter 6**

**The Embassy**

Eoghan sat on the counter in Arcadia's Cauldron, staring at his sore fingertips as the redness dimmed away and his natural skin colour returned. Karliah had pushed his limits as they hunted for pelts and meat for the journey to the Snow Elves. He was exhausted, up before the birds in the morning and home in time for supper as the sun set. Karliah was very insistent on having as much game as possible. Eoghan didn't mind wandering around Whiterun's plains, saw sights he never had seen but the physical effort put in was overwhelming. The Dunmer reminded him of a dog let lose among chickens whenever she noticed deer.

Arcadia approached him with a tub of paste. She smiled at him, scooped out some and began rubbing it on his fingers. "This should help with the numbness."

"You were quick making it."

"I have around a baker's dozen jars of paste. Anoriath tends to pull the strings of a bow far too many times. He's twice as bad as you."

Eoghan snickered and they both looked up as the shop's door opened.

"Thought I might find you here," Naimra said. Arcadia screwed the lid back onto the tub and placed it in its place on the shelves.

"My mom looking for me?"

"No, she wants to keep you away. There's a strange little man after arriving at your house. And a Wood Elf and...Redguard."

He noticed how she was hesitant when speaking about her own race and she kept well away of the Redguard citizens here in the city.

"Did you speak to them?" Eoghan asked as he jumped from the counter. She made a face at him. "Course not! They all seem..."

"Strange, like the little man?"

"No, different. The Wood Elf has robes similar to a mage, the little man looks like a jester and the Redguard is probably an Alik'r."

He grinned at her and his eyes twinkled. "Let's go then."

"But your mother said-"

"My mother can't keep me away from my own home."

She sighed and handed him his cloak. The futile sun shone through the thick clouds as Eoghan and Naimra headed out into the market. The merchants no longer called out their sales, as they had none. The weather was becoming worse, snowfalls were more frequent and less caravans travelled among the Holds.

"Is that the little man?" Eoghan asked, raising his hand from the warmth of his cloak and pointing it at the jester. He was jumping outside the door, singing a song of nonense. The children traipsed towards him, the jester seemed to acknowledge them yet didn't greet them. His cold eyes lingered on Eoghan for a brief moment before turning back on the door.

"She will not let me in. Poor Cicero! No one pities Cicero, no one except dear Listener," he mumbled to himself. The man had a rather high-pitched voice with a Cyrodilic accent. "If Listener was here, he wouldn't allow her to treat me as such. Oh, no no NO!"

"I think we should go to Jorrvasker. You said your father will be back soon and that he'll be heading there-"

"He isn't back yet!" he said rather louder than he intended. The jester turned to him, a large smile forming on his lips and skipped towards Eoghan.

"You! You know the Listener?!"

He caught the boy by surprise. Eoghan was speechless, 'em's and 'um's escaping from his mouth. The jester thought he was talking to him and now, he was stuck in a situation where he couldn't see a way out of. There _was _a way, but it was one Kelda wouldn't approve of - turning his back on the man._  
_

"I don't know who the Listener is, sir."

"Such politeness from a child. Such kindness in his words. Yet he must know the Listener in another name, he looks remarkable like dear Listener..." He paused for a while, collecting his thoughts, scratching behind his ear. "Why, can it be?! You! You are the Listener's son!"

Naimra had a gut instinct that her friend wouldn't get out of this one.

* * *

"Never really liked Whiterun. It's so peaceful here, so boring," Koren uttered under his breath as they passed through the gates into said city. He allowed his heavy bag of gear slide down his arm and drop down onto the ground. Almost a week since the Altmer saw any settlements, smelled the sweet scent of freshly baked bread or heard the tender sound of children's laughter.

"Typical of a thief," Delphine responded, a hint of despite. She didn't take his...history well and hasn't treated him kindly since. Arí's own history she tolerated with - the Blades protecting the Dragonborn and all - the Dark Brotherhood, Theives Guild were ones she looked upon distastefully. The Mages Guild and Companions she admired.

"Typical of a Blade. You're not at all like Esbern. Don't give me that look, I was one of the few who knew his identity since, he _did_ trust me-"

"Oh please, _thief_, enlighten me with your knowledge of Esbern!"

There was a long, awkward pause as the two glared at each other. Arí sighed, rolling his eyes. He spent two and a half _days_ on he road with those two bickering at each other like an old married couple.

Lydia was already coming towards them, helping with Delphine's luggage and she protested as he picked up a shield, but the glance he gave told her enough.

"...You are theives, cuthroats! How can there be a Theives Guild?!"

"Why don't you join and find out?"

The Altmer snickered as she cursed at him and followed the Dragonborn into Breezehome. There was a strong smell of cooked meat, salt and burning kindle. It was the unmistakeable smell of a home, which made Koren cautious upon entering. Arí held the door open, smiling warmly, and Delphine pushed past him, grunting 'Thanks'.

Although there was only several people, the small house seemed very overcrowded. Kelda, Tiawyn and Karliah sat around the dining table, going over Arí's plans. Nazir sharpened his schmitar with a flint and Delphine lounged on the chair beside him, letting out a sigh of relief.

Koren stepped forward to join them only to be stopped by the Dragonborn. The Altmer gave him a puzzled look, raising one of his dark eyebrows.

"Wait, there is one last perosn I must recruit for my cause. Say, have you been to Jorrvaskr?"

* * *

Vilkas. Arí's next recruit. He had often marvelled the Dragonborn with all the stories and history of the Companions. Not only was he intelligent but he had experience with various weapons, from bows to battleaxes, and not to mention being used to different terrains. All in all, he was exactly what the embassy needed.

As Arí and Koren wondered around the side to the courtyrad of Jorrvaskr, they were welcomed by the large group of the Companions. Most sat on the stone pavement, some leaned against either the walls or columns and all surrounded the young boy standing in the middle who told them of the Snow Elves.

Arí gazed at his son, folding his arms and smirking slightly. Eoghan wasn't one to be comfortable in big numbers and yet here he was, centre of attention. Glimpsing to his right, he saw Naimra sitting at the top of the steps, her legs crossed beneath her.

Eoghan had finished his tale, receiving appluase from his audience. He bowed, a big, bright grin on his face.

"That's quite a story, young Dovahkiin. Too bad I missed the fun telling it."

"Father!"

The Dragonborn embraced Eoghan, ruffling his hair.

That was when Koren lost his breath. How long ago was it when he first held his own son in his arms, kissed his wife and breathed in the fresh scent of the lavender growing in the field? How long ago was it when he lost all that?

"Koren?"

The Altmer blinked, realising his eyes were filled with tears. Arí stared at him, eyebrows raised with concern and his arm around his son's shoulders.

"You are Koren? Karliah's friend?" Eoghan asked.

"Aye, I am."

"Have you seen Cicero, son?" Arí said, a curious look in his eyes. The boy shook his head and continued his conversation with the Nightingale. Arí left them to search for his recruit. Vilkas neglected to join the others in listening to Eoghan outside and remained in his room. The dark-haired Nord refused to take part in the social event, which worried many. Including Arí.

When he found him, the Companion sat in his room, a book opened on the table beside him. He was upset, that much clear. Arí knew the man well and he never really _was_ upset.

"Something the matter, Vilkas?"

He looked up, grey eyes dazed and weary. "No. So, I take it you'll be inviting me along with your little party."

"I take it you'll be accepting my invitation."

"You couldn't be more wrong," he replied with a serious tone. Arí was taken aback. Did he _reject_ his offer?

"Vilkas, you understand that you can become as famous as Ysgramor himself..."

"I don't seek fame, Arí!"

The grey eyes that were dazed and weary moments ago, were now narrowed with anger and bloodshot. The Companion's nostrils flared and his face turned redder and redder. Arí bowed his head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you."

He withdrew from the room and gripped onto the door, saying, "We're leaving in two days, if you changed your mind you know where I live," and closed the door.

* * *

Naimra sat on the stairs and thanked Karliah for handing her a bowl of vension stew and a spoon. Everyone was crowded around the hearth, chattering and smiling. The young Redguard had excluded herself from them, feeling the urge to find solitude. Her bright, amber eyes were fixed on the door opposite her and she raised the spoon of stew in her hand to her lips.

"What's your name?"

Spilling some of her broth as she jumped, Naimra turned slightly to face the Redguard who arrived earlier that day. The red turban was removed from his head and his long, dark dreadlocks had been tied back out of his face.

"My name? It's Naimra."

"Naimra... I haven't heard a beautiful name like that in many years. Where are you from?"

"Markarth."

"Really? Your accent is very similar to the accent of the people of Elinhir," he said in a hushed voice. Naimra's eyes widened as they rose to meet Nazir's.

"How...? Please, I beg you. Don't speak of this to anyone," she whispered, taking a quick glance at the others. No one was watching, everyone was too invovled in their own conversations.

"I won't, your secret is safe with me. Will you tell me the truth of your history?"

He seemed to be trustworthy. _Seemed_ to be. Naimra had never trusted anyone in a long time and she wan't willinng to so easily.

"How do I know you will keep this to yourself?" she asked and continued to hold his stare.

Nazir shook his head and smirked, saying, "You don't." He lingered for a few seconds and slipped out the door, his scimitar hanging loosely by his side. Naimra looked down to her bowl, no longer warm on her palm, and no longer was in the mood to eat.

Eoghan became too focused with his father to notice her. She felt isolated, an outcast. Nazir had offered her a listening ear and she didn't accept it. Naimra sighed deeply, set the bowl beside her on the step and rested her head in her hands. There was sudden laughter and yelling as Lydia appeared from the spare room with a lute in her arms. She gave to Arí, who seemed very reluctant to play it. Everyone clapped and stomped their feet, he grabbed the instrument from his housecarl and the room became silent.

"_Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky. His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes. Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died. They burned and they bled, as they issued their cries. _

_We need saviors to free us, from Alduin's rage. Heroes on the field, of this new war to wage. And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world. Lost in the shadow, of the black wings unfurled._

_But then came the Tongues, on that terrible day. Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray. And all heard the music, of Alduin's doom. The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um._

_And so the Tongues freed us, from Alduin's rage. Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age. If Alduin is eternal, then eternity's done. For his story is over and the dragons are gone_."

Naimra stared at the Dragonborn, her lips slightly parted in awe. His voice was low and soft, and his fingers pulled the strings of the lute, making sweet music. 'Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died,' those lyrics moved her. Battle showed a person's true nature, whether they were cowardly or brave.

She jumped from the stairs and ran after Nazir. The snow crunched beneath her boots and she followed the fresh footprints to an open space behind the house. The Redguard assassin had his blade unsheathed and was...dancing with it.

He was on his toes, his hands twirled the scimitar in large circles and he made strange sounds like 'Ho' and 'Ha' whenever he stabbed or slashed his blade. He was...beautiful in his movements. Naimra watched with amazement.

"What are you doing?"

Nazir stopped and dropped down onto the balls of his feet. "It is the ancient swordsmanship of the Ra Gada - our ancestors. Its popularity has declined greatly since the Ra Gada first arrived at Hammerfell, as it requires much discipline and patience to master. Only a handful of Redguards know of its excistence."

"Can you teach me?"

The corner of his mouth curved. "If you tell me _your_ history."

The forgotten art of her ancestors for her story. "You have a deal... Master."

* * *

**Hello! Sorry for the delay, holidays and New Years kept me from writing but I just managed to finish! Did everyone get nice presents? I got an awesome new laptop so I don't have to use my dad's iPad anymore (Yipee!).**

**So, there's tension between Delphine and Koren, Cicero has disappeared, Vilkas has REGECTED Arí's offer (he's a little down too), and Naimra has a secret past (she's the second!). I lost my 'groove' around the point where Arí finds Vilkas. I know it's bad but I can't seem to rewrite it! Oh, and Nazir's swordsmanship, I...uh...sorta used the '_hotas_' from the Godspeaker trilogy, I can almost imagine Naimra as Hekat.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading! (And forgive my mistakes) A review would be great, but no pressure.**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**

**(P.S. I won't update until a few weeks time. I going skiing in two weeks and I'll b lucky if I come up with something to write there, so don't get impatient.)**


	8. The Unknown Jester

**Chapter 7**

**The Unknown Jester**

_Worn, battered, scarred, she gazed across the plain of ice, wind blowing with an unnatural force and snow falling heavily it was impossible to see in a two foot radius. She stumbled over bodies and slipped on blood as she drew closer to the sounds of blades shrieking and cries of unbearable pain._

_A man and an Elf battled in a large circle, surrounded by the corpses of their allies. The clashing of weapons became louder and they fought harder. She didn't want to look, so she flopped back and held her knees to chest, hiding her facing. She tried to block out the yelps and gasps of the man and the Elf slowly became his doom._

_Reluclantly, she glimpsed up, seeing the Elf standing over the man as he slumped on the ground - defeated. Despite the long distance, as she gazed at the man, she noticed how alike he was to the Dragonborn; the same build, same hair, same eyes and yet, he was younger by a decade or so._

_She saw his chest expand as he took a deep breath and he opened his mouth..._

_"FUS RO DAH!"_

_The Elf was thrown backwards by the force of power exiting the Dragonborn's mouth. He flew across the battlefield, finally landing into upturned spears._

_The Dragonborn stood and turned, realising she was there the whole time. He stepped over to her, kneeling before her and taking her hands._

_"Mother."_

_"Eoghan..."_

* * *

The howling wind woke her as Koren opened the door and stumbled inside, a deer's pelt hanging across his shoulders.

"It's like Winterhold out there. Took me five hours to find hunt one of these," he said handing it over to Karliah.

The Dunmer grunted. "I still maintain that the Snow Elves have caused the sudden weather change, especially since it's summer."

"Alas, a theif speaks sense," Delphine exclaimed as she ran troll fat along her blade. Karliah gripped Koren's shoulder and gave him a fierce look. The Altmer's stiff stance reluctantly relaxed and he pushed his way to the other side of the room, away from Delphine.

The house, in fact, was crowded with fur clothing, boots, bedrolls and thick tents. Hides of all the deer, bears and even sabre cats they had hunted for the last several days had contributed towards their equipment for the freezing temperatures of the north. The air smelled of salted meat, blood and burned hair, and despite the many complaints and protests, the windows were kept shut to conserve the heat.

"Are you alright, Kelda?" Tiawyn asked, kneeling beside Kelda.

The Nord woman stirred from a daze and her eyes concentrated on the Wood Elf. "Hm? Oh, I'm fine. The wind woke me up."

"You look like you haven't slept in days!"

Kelda just shrugged and thanked the mage for her consideration. It was true, she _did_ look like she hadn't slept in days. Her face was drawn and emotionless, and there were bags beneath her dull, grey eyes.

The dream she's been having the past few nights has made her restless in her sleep. She trashed around in bed and the covers and sheets were often drenched in her sweat. Every night, she woke in Arí's arms, crying and screaming. _What dream could be so bad she screams in her sleep?_ A dream of her son being beaten almost to his death and then he released his Thu'um... He seemed young, mid-twenties, in her vision. And yet...so skilled he could have such power.

"Mom!" Eoghan said as he stomped into Breezehome. Snow had gathered on his ruffled hair and a thick layer of brown slush was caked to his boots. Kelda wasn't even bothered to tell him to take them off.

"Hm?"

"Cicero's in jail!"

"_What_?!"

She sat up in her chair. "How, in the name of Kynerath, did he get himself in that perdicament?"

"I dunno."

She grabbed her cloak and made for the door. "Lydia, go find Arí and tell him I've gone to Dragonsreach prison to pay that crazy bastard's bounty. What did he do, Eoghan?"

"I don't know, he attacked a guard for...taking his daggers, I think. So the guard hit him square on the head and dragged him off to Dragonsreach."

'_This is just brilliant, bring more insanety onto the jester_,' Kelda thought to herself. The bone-chilling wind rushed through her cloak as she closed the door behind her. Even Eoghan's teeth chattering.

Mother and son advanced towards the Jarl. It felt like weeks for Eoghan since he climbed those very same steps with his father. Obidiently, he follwed Kelda to the prison entrance.

There was a foul stench of human waste and uncleaned bodies - Breezehome smelled like nothing to this. A young man, cladded in the armour of a Whiterun guard, sat at a table and drank some mead.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a raspy voice. Kelda considered him for a while, before replying in her sweetest voice, "Yes, I'm here to pay off the bounty of a man - a jester."

"He's your husband or somethin'?"

She battered her eyes at him. "Fortunately, no. How much is the bounty?"

"Two hundred septims."

"_Two hundred septims_!? What did he do?"

"Attack a guard for dragging him away from Jorrvaskr when the Companions complained of his presence."

Kelda casted her son a we'll-talk-about-this-later look. "A physical assault is a maximun of forty septims!"

"Say that to the man with cuts so deep, you can see the bone," he grumbled counting the coins from the sack Kelda tossed at him. "Go right ahead, doors open. Point out your jester and get out."

She tugged on Eoghan's sleeve and left the guard to ponder in his new wealth. They wandered around to each cell, searching for their mad, but nessessary friend. They found him then, in the last cell on the left, thrown on the ground like a ragged doll. Kelda barely even recongised him without his jester attire. His long, red hair was drawn across his face, soaked in blood from the graze he took to the head.

"This one. Open this one!" she yelled, desperate to reach the little man. Eoghan stood by and watched as the jailor unlocked the cell and his mother fell to her knees beside him.

"Cicero! Cicero, can you hear me?" Kelda said, tapping his shoulders. In repsonce, the Imperial groaned and turned onto his side.

"Wait, you cannot go in there!" the guard shouted as Arí arrived at the scene. He looked down upon Cicero and immediately pulled a healing potion from his sack. Kelda tilted his head as Arí poured the pink elixir down his throat. The jester coughed and groaned some more. A golden light flashed around the cut and the skin grew back together.

Arí lifted the jester in his arms, scrowling at the young guard. "You have some nerve arresting one of my guests. The jarl will hear about this."

"Please, mister Dragonborn, sir. I didn't know he was a guest of yours, so many folk pass through the city I can't keep track of who's who-"

"It's your _job_ as a guard of the city to know!"

With that, Arí stormed out, his wife and son closely following behind.

* * *

"Where were you, Arí, in the last hour?" Kelda asked, watching Tiawyn tend a resting Cicero.

"I was speaking with messanger from that group that went to the Chantry finally found it. That was a few days ago. So, Gelebor will be arriving any day soon, much to our misfortune."

"Don't worry, love, as soon as he hears his kinsmen have survived, he'll be quick to follow you."

The kindness in her voice, the reassurance in her words barely lifted his spirits. He was cold, worn out - in both body and mind. Arí's head fell to her shoulder. "I can't do this anymore, Kelda. At every passing minute I feel like I'm drawing closer and closer to my end. Maybe this expidition could be the bringing of my d-"

He was interrupted when she slapped him across the cheek. "Don't you _dare_ speak like that when our son is without hearing distance. Where is the man gone who defeated Alduin and saved Tamriel from his wrath? Were you not singing last night, the song of how _you_ freed us from his fury? What happened overnight that you lost all hope?"

"I realized that it's always _me_ who saves everyone. _Me_ who risks his life so lazy milk-drinkers can live to see another day. _Me_ who might never return to you, Kelda..."

She stared deeply into his blue eyes. "What has brought this ti mind, Arí?"

Before he could reply, Tiawyn called out, "He's coming round!" They lingered, staring at each other, and finally, climbed the stares to where Cicero was begining to wake.

* * *

Uh... His head was throbbing. There were voices around him, voices of both men and women, of many different races - Nords, Breton, a Wood Elf, Redguard, an Altmer and Dark Elf. Where was he?

Slowly, he opened his eyes and was welcomed by the face of a Nord man, with cropped, light brown hair and deep blue eyes. He blinked once - twice - and the Nord smiled at him.

"How are you feeling, Cicero?" he said in a deep, soft voice.

Cicero sat up, rubbing where the focus of the pain was- Wait, since when was his hair _that_ long? And how did the Nord know his _name_?

"Who...who are you?" That came out weak and high-pitched. He coughed and accepted the cup of water from the Bosmer woman.

"How hard were you hit in the head?" she said, amused. The Redguard laughed. "Ha ha! So hard he's insane no longer!" The Wood Elf chuckled along with him.

"I'm not mad," Cicero protested. Their laughter dimmed down to complete silence.

"By Sithis! How hard _were_ you hit on the hard!?"

"Cicero, what do you remember?" the Nord asked, eyes suddenly full of concern. Cicero thought for a moment.

"I...I remember being in the Sanctuary - in Cheydinhal - and Rasha appointed me as the Keeper. Silence. It was almost deafening and Rasha... He declared himself to be Listener but he could not name the Binding Words, so I killed him. And then...nothing."

"That was twenty-five years ago, Cicero. I read your journals."

"My journals? Can I have them?"

"Later, first, we must fill you in."

Cicero sat and listened to every word. How he travelled to Skyrim with the Night Mother over a decade previous, the Nord - Arí was his name - was the Listener, he knew the Binding Words, and the mythical Snow Elves have returned to take Skyrim back. All was hard to take in, but Cicero managed.

"Who tends the Night Mother in my absense?" he asked fellow assassin, the Redguard Nazir.

"Maxima. Don't worry, she's been your apprentice for many years."

'_That's reassuring._' thought the Imperial, tugging on a jerkin over his tunic. Then, he paused, the name ringing a bell in the maze of his mind. A woman - young, possibly thirty - with round cheeks, charming smile, eyes like two giant, yellow orbs and hair as black as midnight, sat in his memory.

"I... Never mind. You best get some sleep, you are leaving tomorrow," Cicero said, lost in thought. Nazir casted him one look, and bade him a goodnight.

Tomorrow. One more day. One day more.

* * *

**Hello! It's been a while. This sudden burst of write-ty-ness has lead me to write this chapter in, what? Six hours? Was I really working on this all day? Oh, look, it's dark out. Woops!**

**I know I said they'd be leaving in this chapter but this _had_ to happen first. You'll understand as the story progresses. So, in the next chapter (Chapter 8 already? Wow), Arí's embassy will be departing and we'll have an appearance of a very familiar person. **

**So, that's all, I guess. Please excuse all mistakes, both spelling and grammar, and if you're kind enough to point them out too. Hope you enjoyed reading!**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	9. Departing

**Chapter 8**

**Departing**

Dawn approached more slowly than any of them hoped. All lay still in their beds, all thinking what was to come when the first rays of light shone over the horizen. Karliah and Koren stayed in silence, both Nightingales listening to each other's breathing. The assassins and Tiawyn were more or less the same, saying nothing, just waiting for the night to end. Lydia and Delphine, in the housecarl's room, talked - only a little however and in hushed voices. Arí and Kelda lay beneath the covers, warm and cozy with their son between them, the small family holding one another. Like the rest of the house, they barely spoke.

To the rest of Whiterun, the Dragonborn's home seemed quiet - deserted even. As the merchants headed towards the market square to set up their stalls for the long day ahead of them, they noticed the grim atmosphere surrounding the place. But that quickly faded away as she brought joy and happiness to the morning.

The little girl squealed with laughter as she ran with her small legs around the side of Jorrvaskr. To the other children of the city, she was either too innocent or too stupid to know who, or what, lived in the great mead hall. But to this girl, Jorrvaskr was her home and the Companions were her family.

She giggled again as she rounded the corner into the courtyard, Athis and Farkas sitting on the benches, huddled in their cloaks and enjoying a nice brew of warm mead. They smiled as they saw her running across the blanket of snow, her dolly clutched in her hand and her skirt in the other.

"FEE, FIE, FO, FOM! I SMELL THE BLOOD OF A LITTLE GIRL!"

The Dark Elf and Nord bellowed aloud as Vilks marched into the yard, sniffing the air like a dog and checking every obvious hiding place.

The girl giggled again, clamping her hand across her mouth after she realized her mistake. She scrambled up the few steps and crawled under Farkas and Athis's bench.

Vilkas snapped his head up. "FEE, FIE, FO, FOM! I SMELL THE BLOOD OF A LITTLE GIRL!" He walked towards her spot, pretending not to hear or see her.

"Fee, fie, fo, fom," he whispered, creeping closer to the bench, "I smell the blood of a little girl!" He yanked her out and pulled her into his arms. She laughed, and he laughed too.

"You found me, Papa!" she exclaimed, wrapping her small arms around his neck. He kissed her cheek. "I did, I found you, pup."

The Companion headed inside to the warmth and sat her down at the great table surrounding the fire pit. He took a seat next to her and began cutting a few slices from a vension steak.

"Papa, I was out walking with Aela and we saw some butterflies! One had blue wings with black lines at - along the edges of them. And another was all yellow and brown stripes!" she said as he shoved the meat onto her plate.

"Really?! So, they were beautiful butterflies?"

Although he clearly wasn't, Vilkas seemed to be interested in her story. She was just a child, still learning and still growing.

"Yeah, they were beautiful butterflies," she repeated. "Aela said they was all going away."

"They _were_ going away," he corrected her a with stern tone. She barely noticed and ate her meat.

They enjoyed lunch together, Vilkas answering the ridiculous amount of questions piled onto him and her absorbing all the information passed onto her.

"Papa, who's Kodlak?"

He frowned at her, reaching forward and picking up his tankard of mead. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Aela was talking to Farkas and they said, 'It hasn't been seen since Kodlak's ceremony'. Who's Kodlak, Papa?"

A dagger stabbed his heart. How innocent she was in this cruel, harsh world. "Kodlak lived here years before you were born, he was Harbinger and now he's in Sovengard." He gulped down the mead in one go and notcied the Dragonborn sneak inside. Vilkas gave Arí a furious look and gestured his daughter to go to her uncle.

"What do you think you're doing here?" he demanded as he appraoched Arí. "I told you I'm not going!"

"Is she the reason why?"

The blood drained from the Companion's face. His silver eyes dropped down to his boots and he was lost for words.

"I'm sorry, Vilkas. If I'd known... Where's her mother?"

"Dead... She... She joined the Stormcloaks and was killed during the Resistance."

Arí gulped. The Resistance. What they called those still loyal to Ulfric's cause long after he died. He remembered the long journeys he and Legate Rikke made across Skyrim to hunt down the Resistence. Hunt down and kill them...like animals. Except, he wasn't sure whether it was the Resistance _or_ the Legion who were the animals.

"I'm truly sorry, Vilkas." It was no secret how Arí helped the Legion further following the civil war. "What's her name?"

"Amelia. After her mother."

Amelia? "She was a Breton?"

"Half Breton. Half Nord. And no, not a Forsworn."

They stood there in silence, watching Amelia giggle as Farkas goofed around, pretending to be some creature the child found amusing. Vilkas's face and posture relaxed as he watched his daughter, happy as could be.

"Kelda is leaving for Sky Haven Temple in a few hours. It'll be no problem with her taking Amelia along-"

"After you realize why I need to stay, you still protest to tag along with your party? Arí, she depends on me, she trusts me...and losing her mother already, I can't bear to think she could grow up without her father too."

Arí sighed. "Is there any way I can convince you, Vilkas? Gold, land, anything?"

'Anything,'Vilkas repeated to himself.'It hasn't been seen since Kodlak's ceremony.' _What _hasn't been seen? _It_?It _it_?! He suddenly remembered the twinkle in Arí's eyes when he admired it in the tomb. Was he not also a member of the Theives Guild at the time? He _stole_ it! Stole it from the most sacred place to the Companions.

"Wuuthrad. I know you took it," he said, seeing the blood flush to his cheeks. Farkas had Ysgramor's strength, but he had his smarts. "I want Wuuthrad, in return for my silence and my companionship... Also, not a hair on Amelia's head to be touched while I'm gone - or I _will_ kill you, Dragonborn or not."

"Very well, Wuuthrad is yours and Amelia will not be harmed," Arí agreed and shook his hand. Vilkas turned and walked to Amelia kneeling before her, her smile disappearing.

"Amelia," he began, "I'm going away for a little while. On an adventure!"

"Am I going too, Papa?"

"No, pup. You're going on your own adventure, to an ancient castle in the mountains in the west. A nice woman will take care of you until I come back. Don't cry, pup, she'll keep you safe. And maybe, _maybe_, Farkas can visit. You love Farkas, don't you?"

She sobbed. "But I love you more, Papa!"

In that second she stole his heart. He pulled her closer to him and cradled her in his arms, crying too. "I love you too, pup. I love you so much I'd go to the end of Nirn and beyond for you." He held her tight, trying to blink back to endless stream of tears.

He climbed onto his feet, Amelia still in his arms, and asked Tilda to pack his and her things - toys, clothes, everything - and them to be delivered to Breezehome in an hour. Vilkas followed Arí outside, shielding his daughter from the freezing wind.

Guilt struck Arí like a blow to the chest. How could he part a father and child like this? He thought of leaving his son alone in the world, without his parents. He heard her soft cries behind him as they descended into the Plain District.

"Don't go, Papa."

A tear fell from his eye.

* * *

"RUN!" the young guard roared as the bridge began to shudder and collaspe beneath thier feet. Hadvar gave out a yell as the rope burned his hands. He held on as long as he could but the pain was overwhelming. The others screamed as they fell, followed by the sound of several splashes into water.

Hadvar was taken by surprise at the sudden force of the water's current. It pulled him down and carried him away. He bashed into rocks and boulders, something sharp and metal cut into his arm and someone kicked him the gut. He cried out under water, swallowing some water, and dropped down a dozen feet into another fast current. Hadvar was flung into the hard, jagged wall, hauled with the current and finally, fell one last time and landed onto uneven ground.

The Nord lay still, listening to the odd _thud_ as his companions followed him, either dead or unconcious. Then, there was only silence, save the water flow all around him. He went into a daze - a trance - slowly waiting for the cave to become Sovengard.

It felt like hours before he heard soft footsteps and chainmail. Hadvar opened one eye and saw her, the young mage travelling with them, rolling over the bodies of his companions and checkinng for any signs of life. She proceeded to him, turning him onto his back and reaching her two fingers to his neck.

"No need for that."

She jumped back, a look of utter shock on her face. "I though you were...dead."

He weakly chuckled. "Dead? No, not yet. Maybe in a few hours if you had not found me."

The mage helped him sit up and examined his arm. "What in Oblivion cut you?" She waited for a reply but got none. "Well luckily, I brought along some healing potions... Here, drink this."

A small, pink phial was placed at his lips and relucantly, sipped it. His arm glowed in a bright gold light and the wound began to heal.

"What's your name?" he asked, gazing around the cave.

"Sissel."

"Where are you from?"

"Rorikstead."

"Can you find a way out of here, Sissel of Rorikstead?"

She stood and walked along the stream for a bit. "There's a fire at the other end of the chamber!"

"Come back here and help me up! I think I twisted my ankle!" he called. Sissel ran to him and raised him onto his feet. He flexed his foot, wincing at the pain.

"I don't suposse your magic potion will fix that up too," he said with a smirk.

"No, but this will."

She knelt down, pulled off his boot and hovered her hands over his ankle.

"Wait, what are you-"

Like the healing potion, her hands lit up in a golden hue and placed them onto his ankle. He gasped, feeling a warm sensation take over the pain.

"There, all better," she said in a low voice.

"Th-thank you."

After he pulled his boot back on, Hadvar led the way towards the fire, through the large pool. Sissel was quiet behind him, except for her shoes sucking in some water. They drew closer to the flames, bright and high they were. Someone was here...and recently.

"Hello."

Hadvar grabbed the girl and shoved her behind him as an Elf strolled towrds them. He wore white armour the Nord wasn't familiar with, and bore snow, white skin and hair.

"Please, do not fear me," the Elf, stepping closer. "I am Knight-Padalin Gelebor. Welcome to the Great Chantry of Auri-El."

"Gelebor? You... You're a Snow Elf?" Hadvar asked, dropping his hand from the hilt of his sword.

The Elf frowned. "That I am. The last."

"You know the Dragonborn? Arí? He passed through here many years ago searching for Auriel's bow."

"Yes, I remember."

"He needs your help."

Gelebor laughed. "Ha! My help? Is the bow not enough?"

"The bow? No... I mean, it's _your_ help he wants-"

"The Snow Elves have returned!" Sissel exclaimed, interrupting Hadvar. The Elf gazed at her, his grey eyes widening.

"What did you say?"

"The Snow Elves... They've returned to Tamriel. A whole town of them live far north, on an island. They came to Whiterun and kidnapped a Nord blacksmith, Eorlund Gray-Mane and now, Arí is setting out today to make peace with them. He thinks they may be planning on invading Skyrim."

Hadvar watched as he took all. Realizing not being alone is pretty overwhelming. How long did this knight think he was the last of his kind?

"Thank you for telling me this. I... I cannot leave the Chantry unattended."

"Your people may have forgotten your religion!" she pleaded. Gelebor considered this, staring at the young Nord.

"Please, we've travelled for many days. Our fellow companions are dead. Tell me we haven't lost so much in vain."

To Hadvar's amazement, it was a begging girl who persuaded the Knight-Padalin, Gelebor to make his way to the Ice Mountain.

* * *

Yet another shower of light snow trailed from the bleak clouds above. It's been days since anyone had seen blue sky.

Karliah sat outside Breezehome, her hood hung over her face and covered her indigo eyes. She watched Koren and Nazir load their equipment and gear - tents, bedrolls, weapons, armour, food - onto the cart. The mood since breakfast hadn't changed, it was silent, grim and a little sad. Not even an hour ago, Arí had returned from Jorrvaskr with Vilkas and his daughter. She was crying her eyes out, the poor thing, and she wouldn't let go of her father. Outside, the Dunmer could still hear the sobs and wails of the child.

Cicero walked through the city gates, tugging a horse along by the reins. Since the blow to the head, she found the Imperial less hostile and less intimidating. In his 'sane' personality, he was witty, friendly and considerable charming. Like the others, Karliah was keeping a close eye on him, waiting for the moment to come when he suddenly turn back to his former, mad self.

The door behind her swung open and Delphine marched out, already shouting orders at the men.

"What are you doing?! The metal will squash all the food if you have it on top. Take it all out and start again!"

Karliah snickered as they swore under their breaths and obeyed the loud-mouthed Breton. Though, she had to admit, with Delphine in charge the cart looked a lot more stable.

"Karliah, all set and ready to go?"

The Dunmer nodded and gestured to her bow and sack, packed with her Nightingale armour. She tossed the bag into the cart and pulled herself onto the seat. Koren stood on the wheel behind her.

"You take care of yourself, Karliah. I don't want to spend half a century looking for someone to replace you," he said, jokingly. She didn't smile.

"You should take this seriously, Koren. None of us might come back."

"By Akatosh, Karliah! I'm trying to lighten the mood!"

She turned round and stared deep into his liquid, black eyes. "Take care of yourself. You both know the Divines have something in store for you."

The Altmer suddenly became silent and his face dropped. He stepped down from the wheel and walked away, his head bowed low and his dark hair covering his eyes as he began to sob.

Finally, the time came.

Kelda held a struggling Amelia in her arms. "Papa! Papa!" she cried. Vilkas kissed her forehead, whispering, "Goodbye, pup. I love you." Endless tears and sobs came from the young girl as her father turned his back on her.

"Papa!" she screamed. "PAPA!"

The Companion sat across from Karliah, Wuuthrad gripped tighty in his hands.

Nazir said a quick goodbye to his fellow assassin, shook hands and slid onto the cart beside the Nord. Tiawyn was the most cheery out of them all. A broad smile was on her lips as she hugged Lydia, who she became good friends with, and climbed onto the cart. Delphine sat in front, taking the reins and waiting as patiently as she could for Arí.

The Dragonborn, neutral as any man can be, embraced his son and told him to take care of his mother. Eoghan was on the brink of tears and wiped them away as soon as his eyes welled up.

He turned to Kelda, still struggling with Amelia. He placed his hand at the back of her neck and drew her closer to him, resting his forehead on hers. "There's nothing I can say that I haven't said already."

"I know."

"Kelda, I love you, not even words can describe you much."

"I know," she said, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. "Come back to me, Arí." He kissed her, again and again, until Amelia escaped from her captor's arms and dashed to the cart. Kelda grabbed her quickly, swinging her up onto her hip. She turned back to Arí but he was gone.

Eoghan, Lydia, Koren and Cicero stared as the embassy rode off and the gates closed behind them. They stood there for a long time, no one spoke...no one knew what to do now.

The cart was more or less the same, until they crossed the border into the Pale and Vilkas broke down. No one comforted, they just looked down at their boots or at the surroundings, slowly passing by. A dragon flew past, circling overhead several times and roaring out loud. It was joined by another and another, all shouting the same two words.

"Farewell, Dovahkiin."

_End of_ _Part One_

* * *

**That's my longest chapter yet! Happy Mother's Day to all the moms in the world! :)**

**Sorry this took so long, I'm writing so many things; a script for a music video we're doing in school; and a story for a compitition due by the 15th. **

**Yay! I've finished part one! Now the embassy will begin the long, dreary journey to the Snow Elves and, hopefully, make peace with them. On to part two!**

**Any thoughts? Feel free to review or PM me. Oh, and please forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes I've missed :)**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	10. Cold Atmora

**Part Two**

**Chapter 9**

**Cold Atmora**

The ship bopped up and down, waves crashed into its side and water washed all over the deck. In the hull, Tiawyn's face was green and her stomach turned at every smooth motion of the vessel on the open sea.

Her Arch Mage's robes were long abandoned in Whiterun and she had donned her fur attire since boarding the _Sea Squall_. The young sea captain suggested some elixirs that should calm her stomach, but none worked.

The door opened and Karliah slipped inside on the wet floorboards. She looked at Tiwayn, an amused smile on her face. "Don't go out there." Her clothes were soaking and water dripped from the lock of her dark hair hanging over her face.

She pulled off her fur coat, flopping it down onto the floor close to the stove that warmed the room. One by one, she removed her clothing and changed into old breeches and a lined shirt. From the other side of the room, Tiawyn observed her toned body and the white scars that stood out against her blue skin.

Karliah knelt in front oof the stove, squeezing the rain out of her hair. "How are you feeling?"

"That last one made me worse," the Bosmer replied, grabbingg a bucket and retching into it. She felt a hand rub her back and her locks were pulled out of her face.

"If it's any better, we'll be arriving at Atmora in five hours," the Dunmer said, sitting beside her. Tiawyn looked up with a dim smile.

"Great."

Exactly as she predicted, the _Sea Squall_ docked at a harbour once used by the ancient Nords. It took them another seventy minutes to tie the boat down due to the rough seas and freezing weather. Arí and Vilkas had bought sledge and packed their equipment onto the six. Everyone had their fur gear on, hoods were up and gloves on tightly.

"We'll walk seven miles north west. There's a city there, according to my map, and we'll make camp there for night. I don't want to be walking around like a headless chicken in a strange place," Arí said, his voice muffled by his fur mask. No one argued and no one turned back.

The Dragonborn lead the party, followed by Vilkas, Karliah, Tiawyn, Nazir and then Delphine at the back. A bone-chilling wind crept up on them and everyone was gareful the old Blade brought a few dozen potions for resisting the cold.

They walked what seemed like hours, dragging their heavy loads behind them, and a few hours later, they arrived at the ruins of the old city.

"What now, Arí? How do we reach the Elves island? Do we swim?" Nazir asked when they settled down for the night.

"Swim? No, the sea will be frozen. I thought we could walk."

"Are you certain the sea is frozen?" Karliah asked, helping Delphine with the warm broth.

"Were you not there when the Sea Squall's crew were having trouble driving the boat through the ice, as thin as it was?" the Bosmer replied. She was still a bit green.

"You were below deck the whole time," the Nightingale countered. The two Elves looked at each other, both pairs of eye locked in each other.

"If looks could kill," murmured Arí and he quickly dozed off, dreaming of Sovengarde.

* * *

Eorlund was tired. These Elves had him working from dawn to dusk. He missed the Skyforge, he missed his wife and children and he missed home. The queen visited his chamber (or his prison, as he liked to call it) daily at the hour before sundown.

He stood by the Elven forge, dazed in his thoughts. The forge was very alien to him, it was shaped differently than the forges back home and needed no fuel. He reluclantly asked a servant how the flames remained alive and hot.

"Oh, the same source that heats our pool," the young Elf replied and returned to his duties.

For most of his days there, Eorlund wandered around the mountain. He grew bored of smithing and began learning the Falmer language. There was nothing to do as it seemed to him, there was no ale or mead, the Elves had strange music and they had no desire for brawling. Learning their language was a distraction for him, and the old Nord picked it up quickly, to his amazement.

"Eorlund!" Aranel said as she entered the room. Her silver hair was tied in a fashionly bun, and she wore a blue dress that fitted nicely on her narrow waist. She smiled warmly at him.

"My lady," he said, bowing. It was done automatically, after being beating by the guards outof sight for not showing the woman not one bit of respect.

"How are you today?" Her bright eyes gazed down to his attire. "And I see you've donned the robes I had sent for."

"Aye, they keep in the warmth."

"Aye," she repeated, growing accustomed to its meaning. The blacksmith showed her the armour he forged prior, explaining how it was to be put on and how the straps were to be tied. She listened intently, fiddling with her rings.

"You've done me an excellent service, Eorlund. I can assure you there'll be riches beyond your imagination waiting for you when you return home. However, I have one small task."

"Another?" He felt like a child, disappointed.

"Just a small one, I promise. I've three blacksmiths. All willing and able to learn our craft from you. That's all you have to do, Eorlund. Teach these three and they will teach another three, and so on-"

A messanger arrived at the door, interrupting Aranel and she casted her a glare.

"_What_?" she snapped.

"Forgive me, milady, but I bring an urgent message from Lord Faeron," the messanger said, stumbling out the words. The queen's face relaxed from her frown.

"Speak quickly then."

"Assassins, milady, are coming from tthe south. His lordship's spies say they come to kill you and all our race."

Aranel dismissed her, observing the startling news. She sat on a chair, eyes lost in concern. "It was too early to bring you here, Eorlund. I've cost the lives of my people..."

* * *

Tiawyn's legs sunk deep into the snow, some slipping into her boots. She glimpsed back at Nazir and Karliah at the end of their trail, and then forward at Vilkas, Delphine and Arí ahead. How she longed for some wine!

It was their third day on the plains of Atmora, the weather was getting worse and the temperature was dropping the further they went north. There was another two days march left on this continent.

"We're walking over a chasm now!" Arí yelled, "Step where I step and even out your weight!"

They trended across the thin ice, as slow as snails, and when the Dragonborn shouted that he reached solid ground, that was their first mistake. In their eagerness to dangerouss chasm behind them, they rushed forward and forgot all concentration of balancing their weight.

The Wood Elf was ever so grateful as she joined the first three on the safe ground, she even smiled at Vilkas. Then, there was a loud crack behind her and Tiawyn was pulled and landed back onto the ice. She screamed as she supported the weight of Nazir, Karliah and their two sledges.

"Don't move, Tiawyn!" the Companion exclaimed as he grabbed the rope and began hauling her to him. They both hesistated as they heard the ice beginning to give beneath her.

"Help!" Karliah's voice came from the pit. Vilkas and Tiawyn shared an anxious look and he continued pulling.

But, the ice gave.

She let out a yelp as she fell and screamed in pain as Vilkas swung her into the rock-face. Arí and Delphine only realised what was happening then. They ran forward, leaving their gear behind, and began helping Vilkas heave them up.

The rope snapped, one string at a time, and Tiawyn was just in arm's reach when the last cord broke.

But, she fell into the void.


	11. The Ice Tunnels

**Chapter 10**

**The Ice Tunnels**

The Reach. Hadvar never liked it. Its hills of rock, its hostile natives and their cruel overlords. The snow fell heavily from the sky and the path before him was covered in slippery, brown slush, swearing everytime his boot slid. Sissel returned to Rorikstead for personal reasons, and Gelebor walked beside him, wearing a dark, thick cloak concealing his abnormal pale skin and snow white hair with the hood up.

"Who are these people who are watching us, hiding atop the cliffs?" he asked in a hushed voice. Hadvar gazed up, not seeing any signs of movement.

"I suspect it may be Forsworn," the Nord replied, and seeing th Snow Elf's puzzled look he continued, "They lived for while here until Nords took over and they rebelled a few dozen years ago."

"Your kind seem to dominate and conqueor many poeple."

"True, a Nord founded the empire."

"There is an empire?" Gelebor asked. So, Hadvar told him of Talos, the Septim dynasty and eventually the Great War as they neared the border to the Whiterun hold.

"And you fight for your empire, even though they sighed a treaty with the Aldmeri Dominion and forbid the worship of Talos?"

Hadvar sighed and shrugged. "We need a unified empire to defeat the Thalmor. They call the Great War, the first war with the empire. There'll be more than one conflicts with the Elves."

He looked absently around them, weary of a Forsworn ambush and missing Sissel's absence.

"There's someone up at the top of that hill," Gelebor said, reaching for his weapon.

"Be careful, they may be a traveller...or a Forsworn."

The slush grew thicker as they advanced, seeing a woman strolling towards them. By her height, she was a Nord and Hadvar relaxed. She was either a traveller or a mercenary.

"Hail, friend!" she called, raising her hand in greeting. "How fares the road?"

"Take care, there are Forsworn about and - Lydia?" He stopped in his tracks, staring at her in amazment. "What are you doing here?"

The housecarl gave him a dazzling smile. Her usual steel armour had been replaced with dark travelling clothes, Hadvar barely recognised her. "I'm heading to Sky Haven Temple. Arí left yesterday morning and should have landed at Atmora by now. Is this...?"

"Lydia, I'd like to introduce you to Knight-Padalin Gelebor."

The Snow Elf raised his head so she could see his face and bowed slightly. "It is an honour. Shall you be joining us?"

Hadvar swallowed. Not even he was brave enough to ask her that question, yet she was smiling and...argeeing!

"I thought you'd never ask, Gelebor!" she laughed. Lydia walked ahead with the Elf, already beginning a friendship.

"Wait, Lydia! Don't you need any supplies?!" Hadvar yelled. She kept walking towards a juniper tree and pulled out a large sack, turning back to the Nord and smirking.

"You were saying, Hadvar?"

* * *

There was an agonizing pain in her side. Her eyes opened and noticed her hands holding her head. She sat up, pushing her sledge off her legs, and looked around the cave. Her breath pushed steam through thee air, it was cold down there but not as cold as above in the blistering wind.

Karliah pulled herself onto her feet, her lower limbs numb from the weight of the sledge, and stumbled towards the slumped figure of Tiawyn. The Wood Elf was unconscious and there was a small pool of dried blood by her head.

The Dunmer kneeled beside her and tapped on her shoulders. "Tiawyn, can you hear me?" The mage groaned in responce. Karliah let out a sigh of relief and looked around for the Redguard.

His sledge was at the other end of the cavern, by the opening of a big, round tunnel. _'Where did he go?'_ she wondered to herself. What does an assassin do in a cave of ice?

It was freezing there and she had no wood or coal to burn. Tiawyn was shivering, and so was Karliah. She grabbed her bedroll out of her pile of equipment and pulled off her coat, gloves, boots and trousers covered in frost and melted snow, doing the same for Tiawyn. Karliah gasped at the sheer coldness, pulling the Bosmer into the bedroll quickly and climbing in herself.

She settled down, dragging the blanket up to their shoulders. "We wait 'til Nazir comes back then we'll think about getting out of here."

It was a long time afterwards when Karliah's ears pricked at the sound of footsteps. Footsteps trained to be silent against the ordinary ear. One of her indigo eyes opened. Tiawyn was no longer cradled in her arms, she was laid out beside a fire. A _fire_? Karliah sat up, reaching for her ebony dagger she always kept nearby...but it was gone!

The flames crackled and so did a deep, cruel voice. "Looking for this?"

Nazir lounged by the Wood Elf, phials of potions beside him, and he waved her dagger. Around them, he had managed to set up sheets of thick clothe, held up by the support poles used for their tents.

"Where were you?" Karliah asked with a scowl, raeching forward and grabbing her weapon from him. His lips curved into a smile.

"Scouting for a way out. We took a bit of a fall," he replied, looking up to the gigantic hole the three of them made. She gazed up too, seeing the stars and aurora for the first time in days.

"Yeah... You think Arí and the others are searching for us?" She never saw the Redguard looked so concerned.

"I... I know Arí for quite some time now, and he isn't one to lose hope. I'm sure they are."

"How did you build the fire?"

"I brought along some wood and flint."

She watched as he lifted the hem of his tunic, revealing his dark-skinned abdomen, and lifted Tiawyn's foot. With a cringe, he pulled it and pressed it against his stomach. The Dumer frowned.

"Why...?"

"She's frostbite on her foot. No, I don't know how she managed to catch it but she has. And my 'ailment', it's an old technique of dealing with the disease and better for not wasting septims on cures."

"I have plenty of potions to cure all diseases, Nazir. I came prepared."

"So I saw."

They sat in silence. Karliah munched on a dry peice of meat and Nazir continued in his ailment. Ten mintues later, he gave in: "You have to take over."

"What?"

He pulled Tiawyn's foot from under his tunic and turned her around so her head rested near him. "Just for fifteen mintues and I'll take over again."

Reluctantly, Karliah agreed. She noticed the foot deathly pale, white in comparrison against Tiawyn's natural tanned skin and as she placed in on her stomach, it was as cold as a corpse.

For the next hour, poor Tiawyn was moved every ten or fifteen minutes and slowly, with the help of the Nightingale's healing potions, her frostbite faded away. She slept soundly, the top of her head almost touching Nazir. The assassin drank the warm brew of mead, sharing with the Dark Elf.

"What's the story with you and that girl?"

"Naimra? She wanted to learn the ancient swordsmanship of the Ra Gada, and in the few hours, I taught as much as I could. She's a fast learner and I warned her to practise the art while I am away."

"Not everyone gives away knowledge such as easily. What was your end of the bargain?"

Nazir smirked, stroking the fire with his blade. "Ha, true! She's...not from Markarth, I knew that once I met her. Her accent, it's similiar to that of those from Elinhir, a city I'm familiar with." He tossed a piece of firewood into the flames. "There's a wealthy family living there - merchants - and the master of the house, he keeps...concubines."

Karliah's eyes widened in horror. "I thought-"

"It is rare in Hammerfell but still, it is there. Naimra'a mother was one, only sixteen when she was brought to the estate. The master, her father, had it arranged that she be sold to another wealthy family. But, as you well know, most men think with their dicks rather than with their brain. Naimra was born and cast out into the streets. Her mother gave her as much money as she could get. She stole from the master's very own treasury and paid the consequences. When visiting, Naimra discovered the master brutely beating her mother and, out of pure and utter anger, she grabbed a knife and stabbed him in the back." With a phantom weapon, Nazir stabbed into the air.

"A kill...at such a young age."

"Yes. She and her mother stole off in the middle of the night, slipping through the claws of the Alik'r and crossing the border in Skyrim with a trading caravan. Naimra's mother died shortly after reaching Markarth and she took up in the service of a Redguard family living there, learning the smithing trade and trying to survive in the toughest of all places."

She was taken aback. How long ago was Karliah on the run, moving from place to place, hardly getting a good night's rest?

"Don't tell anyone of course," Nazir said, "Or, I'll have to kill you." The cave erupted in his laughter. He pulled his cloak further around his body and slugged down the last of the mead. He stared absently into the flames, mumbling, "You know, I might think of taking her in...as my own. I never had the time to settle down and have a deserves that much after all she's been through."

"Aye, raised by assassins."

They both laughed, interrupted by a moan.

"You don't have to be so loud," Tiawyn said, her scarlet eyes staring up at the Redguard.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Her cheeks flushed red and she began sitting up. "What happened?"

"We fell," Karliah explained, "And now we are regaining our strength. Acutally, did you find a way out, Nazir?"

"No, I found a tunnel that leads to a ruin, and another that leads to another and another. The cities of Atmora are connected by underground passages."

Tiawyn gazed at the marks on her palms, indicating she had ropeburn. "What's the plan?"

Neither of them answered, until Karliah said, "Arí was planning on getting to the most northenest settlement on the continent, yeah?" They nodded and she continued, "If we use the tunnels to get to it, maybe we can meet up with Arí, Vilkas and Delphine there."

Her fellow Elf looked up at the chasm they fell through. "Did they not climb down to get us out?"

"No, they didn't."

The three of them felt a little anger build up in their hearts. Would Arí not _try_ to rescue them? Did he think they all died in the descent? Or was it someone else in charge of the embassy?

"Fine," Nazir began, pulling a blanket over him, "We set out in six hours, once the fire dies down and we travel to the city. If all comes to all, I'll search for Arí myself if we reach there and he didn't." He turned his back to them. Karliah gave Tiawyn a serious look.

"Put this by your left foot, just to be sure your frostbite is gone." She handed her an elixir, labelled '_WEAKNESS TO FIRE_' across the front. As the bottle dropped into Tiawyn's hand, she was surprised at the heat emerging from it. Then...

"Wait... Frostbite?!"

But Karliah was already falling asleep.

* * *

They slept for six hours and spent another hour packing away the tents and bedrolls, much against their original plan. Nazir hummed a soft melody while tying down the gear on his sledge. It was a lullaby, and it stuck in Tiawyn's head as she followed him through the maze of tunnels.

The Wood Elf's foot was a bit numb from keeping it against the vial all night. She stumbled along the icey passage and flexed her ankle when they reached a crossroad.

Nazir had no clue where he was going and whenever a hole loomed overhead and the stars shone bright, he could tell which way was north.

"Redguards learned to navigate their way through the Alik'r desert by the stars," Karliah explained when Tiawyn asked how. Despite the fact she was Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, she felt like a child in comparrison to her companions' knowledge, all she was learned in was magic. She spent years locked away in her tower and mastered her skills as a mage.

"Tiawyn, your clearly possess great skills with magic," Nazir said, as if reading her thoughts, "How are you with archery?"

She gave him a queer look. "I can use a bow if that's what you mean?"

"Yes! I was unsure as..." he trailed, deciding not to finish his sentence. She beamed up at him. "Before I joined the College, I was with a group of - how shall I put this - adventurers. I was a sort of scout for them, being able to sneak past traps and bandits and all. I carried a bow with me but I preferred Destruction spells. In case of a battle, I usually lingered in the sidelines, quiet and invisible, and killed unbeknownest to my 'victim' from a distance."

That made the assassin smile. "You would make a great member of my Family. It is not often one can find a witch-thief."

"I am not a thief-"

"True, you may have never stolen anything in your life, but your prowess proves otherwise."

Tiawyn narrowed her eyes at him. "If you must know, my father was a hunter and he taught me well."

"Oh, then forgive me."

Karliah stopped in her tracks, gazing down the tunnel before them. As Nazir stepped beside her, he saw her lips curving into a broad smile. She didn't look at either of her companion's but pointed ahead.

"We've made it," she whispered with glee. Suddenly, the Dunmer took flight, racing down to the soft glow of fire further down the tunnel. She reached a door, similiar to the wooden ones in an ancient Nordic tomb and tried to open it. The hinges were rusted and the handle would not budge. She pressed all her weight against it but ended up slipping on the ice.

"Allow me," Tiawyn said, pushing the Dark Elf out of her way. Her hands crackled as electricity flowed between her palms. With colossal concentration, she formed an orb of lightning and the crackling grew louder. She brought the ball to her chest, and with a deep breath, released it at the door, blowing it off its hinges. For the first time since she joined Arí's embassy, she felt proud of herself.

"Nicely done!" Karliah exclaimed and stepped inside the ruin. The chamber was like any other, similiar to those in Skyrim. As they wandered the main hall, draugr were littered across the floor.

"A Shadowmark!"

Karliah ran to an upturned table and rubbed her fingers over a sign that was carved onto the old wood, and recently. The others obsevered the sign, the Shadowmark as she called it; a cirlce and triangle penetrating it, with a line halving the triangle.

"Danger," she explained to their confused looks.

"Arí was here," Nazir said.

"Indeed he was."

All three of them turned to face a dozen Snow Elves. Their leader, clearly by a ceremonial sword that hung at his waist, gestured to three figures kneeling behind his men. Their hands were bound and sacks covered their faces.

"Let them go!" Nazir yelled, unsheathing his scimitar. Karliah notched an arrow on her bow and Tiawyn's hand fumed with magic.

"That is not for me to decide, but my Lady Aranel will," the Elf said.

"Katyr! You cannot be serious on bringing these apes with us to the Island. Lord Faeron-"

Katyr interrupted the Elf, much to her displeasure, "Lord Faeron does not rule over me! I am leading this party and according to law, our Lady is the one who decides on the fate of...these Tamrielans."

"Who are you?" demanded Karliah.

"I, Chimer, am Katyr, Grandmaster of Lady Aranel's spies."

She tensed at 'Chimer'. The Grandmaster ordered their weapons to be taken from them and to be tied up like the rest of the embassy. But Nazir didn't go down without a fight. With a quick lash of his blade, he cut an Elf across the chest and blood streamed through the white robes he wore.

"Enough!" yelled Katyr, "I will have your friends killed if you so much as raise your hand again!" One Mer roughly grabbed Delphine and pressed his sword firmly against her throat.

Karliah's indigo eyes blazed suddenly and she drew back the arrow to her ear. "You're walking on dangerous ground!"

"And yet I hold the upper hand! My queen has instructed me to deliver you to her by tomorrow... Come quietly...or you can watch Eorlund Gray-Mane die."

Arí screamed into his sack, cursing and threatening the Elf. Katyr chuckled. "Shall we get going?"

* * *

**And I like to thank skyflower51, ay1234 and 'Guest' for reviewing the last few chapters.**

**Finally, the embassy will have arrived at Ice Mountain and the fate of the Snow Elves and Tamriel lies in their hands! **

**Hope you enjoyed reading :D**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**

**(Update: yeah, I just deleted the last sentence. I killed off Karliah as an April Fool's prank to skyflower51)**


	12. The Court of Queen Aranel

**(Just a quick mention, the last sentence in the previous chapter _DID NOT_ happen, so you just aren't confused when Karliah is all of a sudden alive and well.)**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Court of Queen Aranel**

Eorlund was in good humour. His last and final apprentice was almost trained in crafting the ancient armour and soon, the Nord would return home. In truth, he never missed his wife so much. He had not received word from her (not that he could) and he knew she would be worried sick.

The apprentice, Malabrar, was almost finishd crafting the helmet, just tempering it for a better fit. The young Elf was a fast learner and clearly was the better blacksmith out of the three. He gazed up at Eorlund, his bright, blue eyes gleaming with pride, and he showed him the final peice of the armour. Eorlund took it into his hands, examining the frame.

He smiled. "Well done, Malabrar. You can now forge your ancestors' armour and weapons." He spoke in perfect Falmer, pronouncing the vocabulary without faulty.

"Thank you, master Eorlund. You are a wise and excellent teacher. It was an honour-"

He was cut off when an Elf burst into the smithy. It was the same messanger who delivered the news of assassins to Aranel two days ago. She was breathing heavily and her legs trembled beneath her. Eorlund handed a cup of water to her and she gulpped it down in one go.

"Thank you, milord. I bring a message from her Lady Aranel," she said, still trying to cath her breath. "Katyr has caught the assassins and they are to be trialed in the throne room. Her Lady wishes you to be there with her."

He was already out the door. Taking the caverns, he reached the room in no time. Aranel greeted from atop her dais. She was donned in a spectacular white dress, decorated in sapphires around the end of the long sleeves and bodice, and she wore black gown over it, with a delicately crafted, silver belt. Her ceremonial sword hung at her waist and her crown sat on her head.

"Eorlund, come and sit beside me," she said. The blacksmith sheepishly climbed the steep steps and took the cushioned stool next to her throne. The lords and ladies of the Mountain crowded the hall, chattering like the annoying birds that sang at the break of dawn and one when oneself was sound asleep.

Aranel raised her hand and silence was hushed. She welcomed everyone, her voice clear and loud. "My lords and ladies, I have recieved word two days ago that assassins from the south have come to exterminate all of us." They took up chatting but quieted as she raised her hand again. "I sent out Grandmaster Katyr to find these Tamrielans and bring them to me, and I have to say, he succeeded." She nodded and the great doors opened.

Everyone gasped as Arí and his embassy walked inside. Their hands and feet were chained together, and they were stricted of their weapons. They were dragged until they reached the center of the hall, and were released from their steel bindings.

"Tell me now, who is your leader?" Aranel asked, sitting down into her throne. A small woman stepped forward. She was a Breton, with silvery hair that once was blonde. She folded her arms and glared up at the queen.

"I am. My name is Delphine, Blade and dragonslayer."

Another murmur.

"My Lady!" called a voice behind the embassy. The Elf pushed his way through the court, stopping and bowing at the bottom of the dais.

"Lord Faeron, you honour us with your presence."

"Milady, I speak true when I say this Tamrielan is not their leader. That man..." he pointed at the Nord with shoulder-length, brown hair and blue eyes, "...is. I first met him in Whiterun as I...delivered the offer to your guest, Eorlund Gray-Mane."

The Nord stood forward. "Aye, it is true. I am Arí, the leader of this party. And your Lord Faeron here, _kidnapped_ Eorlund and almost killed me _and _my son."

The Elves gasped and Aranel's eyes flared. "Faeron! You dare harm a child! Our laws still abide in Tamriel-"

"My Lady, I did _not_ touch the boy."

"You unnerved him! He hasn't slept since you threatened to scorch his skin away-!"

"ENOUGH!" the queen yelled. The man and Elf cesed to bicker at each other. "Fate will decide...who speaks the truth." With a wave of her hand, their weapons were returned to the Tamrielans and knights marched into the hall.

* * *

"Bad idea, Elf," Vilkas warned as several Elven knights walked into a circle around the embassy, sneering at them. They were cladded in ancient Falmer armour; armour Arí was very familar with.

Vilkas's first blow crashed against a quickly raised shield, shattering the arm of one Elf and hurling him into a clattering heap ten feet away. Arí parried a sword stroke from a burly elf with his dagger and battered at the man's raised shield with his own sword. Nazir toyed expertly with an Elf in a green cloak, easily avoiding his opponent's awkward strokes and flicking the point of his scimitar at the Elf's visored face.

The steely ring of sword on sword echoed through Aranel's throne room, and showers of sparks cascaded from the clash of edge against edge. With huge blows, Vilkas smashed at a second Elf. A vast sweep of his two-handed sword went under the knight's shield, and the Elf shrieked as the great blade bit through his armour and into his side. Then he fell with blood spouting from the sheared-in gash that reached halfway through his body.

Arí, with a deft backswing of his sword, carved in the side of the burly knight's helmet, and the Elf half-spun and fell to the floor.

Nazir feinted a quick move, then drove his scimitar through a slot in the green-cloaked knight's visor. The striken knight stiffened as the blade ran into his brain.

Karliah dropped her bow and drew her long dagger from under her cloak, running directly at an Elf with a shaggy white beard. At the last moment, she dived forward, rolled and struck the bearded Elf full in the chest with both feet. Without pausing she came up and ripped her dagger into her enemy's belly. The knife made a wet, tearing sound as it sliced upward, and the striken Elf clutched his stomach with a scream, trying to hold in the blue-coloured loops and coils of his entrails.

Tiawyn summoned a storm artonach, circling the battle with her nimble feet. Watching Vilkas smash an Elf's head in, she fired some lightning at the enemy's reinforcements. They screamed as the electricity travelled between them, their skin and hair burning and leaving an awful stench. Her artonach attacked a second group of Elven knights, blowing them away with its rocky punches and mighty magic that pulsed between them like the last group.

As the mêleé surged across the icey floor, every Elf looked at the work of their elite strength. Arí's chest rose and fell quickly as he approached the queen, dragging his sword on the floor behind him. At the bottom of the steps he stopped and raised his blade, pointing it at her. "Who are you to order an attack on a peaceful embassy, here to make a friendship and hopefully an alliance with your people?"

Eorlund's jaw clenched, not even he dared to speak to the queen as such.

The Snow Elf laughed, her voice echoing around the hall. "I, Nord, am the great-granddaughter of the Snow Prince, last Elven king of Skyrim. my spies tell me you are here to assassinate me and eliminate the remainder of my kind."

He scoffed. "Assassinate? If I was here to kill you, I wouldn't have brought along the Dunmer, the Bosmer or my fellow Companion. I have connections with the Dark Brotherhood," he cocked his head to Nazir.

Aranel gestured him to approach her. He sheathed his sword and dagger, climbing the steps. "You are telling no lies? I was misinformed and was on the path to killing you, innocent Tamrielans."

"My Lady, I swear to you, he lies! _He_ tried to kill me when he...used some unknown magic against me and blasted me out of the window in the College of Winterhold!" Faeron exclaimed.

Tiawyn ran forward. "You took over my college! You murdered two innocent novices, you destroyed all our research and threatened to kill us all! Queen Aranel, please hear my words!"

He kicked her to the floor. "My queen, would you believe these strangers over me, your loyal servant and friend-"

"My lord Faeron! There are two sides of this story and I am beginning to doubt your's." She turned to the Wood Elf. "And your name is?"

"Tiawyn, my Lady, Arch-Mage of the College."

"What are you doing here?"

The question caught her off guard. "I promised Arí to help communicate with you, but honestly, your Snow Elf magic has been lost for thousands of years. I wish to return home with enough knowledge to share it with my colleagues...if you would show me, of course...my Lady."

"What will my kind get in return?"

"Safe haven in my College."

The queen smiled. "Very well. Your request is granted." She turned to Arí. "And your...magic that 'blasted Faeron out of the College'. Demonstrate it."

He smiled back at his embassy. He straightened and looked up to the high ceiling, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath, and... "YOL TOOR SHUL!" He breathed out a blaze of fire. Every Snow Elf shrieked at the terrifying strength of his Thu'um.

"Amazing," Eorlund whispered. "_That_, my Lady, is the power of Dovahkiin - Dragonborn, a mortal with the soul of a dragon."

* * *

The whole Sea of Ghosts was frozen over.

Hadvar stared in astonishment over the great plain of ice that stretched as far as the eye could see.

"What could have caused this?" he asked Gelebor. The Elf breathed in the cold air, answering, "The influence of the Snow Elves." He led the way, Lydia and Hadvar followed closely behind. They walked for four days, huddling together in the one tent and eating rations that were cut down daily. Lydia's hair froze whenever it whipped in the wind and the sweat on Hadvar's skin turned to ice as he carried their equipment.

The toll was taken on the Nords the most, and the climate or the rations never affected Gelebor. The cold seemed to give him more strength and he prayed to Auri-El whenever he could. The further they travelled north, the longer the night became until the morning never arrived. It was difficult to see in the darkness as the wind blew out any fire or torches they lit.

"I shouldn't have left Whiterun," Hadvar said often to himself, cursing and swearing to every Divine and Daedric Prince. He had not seen land in four days. There was nothing there, just ice and snow on the flat plain. He didn't understand why the Snow Elf took this route instead of tracking across Atmora. The ruins and caves there would provide shelter from the bitter cold and wind.

Things only got worse for them.

On the fourth day, as they sat close to each other in the small tent, Gelebor revealed they were down to half a peice of horker meat. They looked blankly at it for twenty minutes until Lydia spoke up.

"How far away are we from the Snow Elves?"

"Another seven hours," he replied. Hadvar licked his lips, eyeing the food.

"Seven... We'll eat this peice in six hours after we sleep and we will get there as quickly as we can. If we get hungry on the way, eat some ice. Got it?" she said. The men nodded as they had no other plan.

Five hours later, they aroused and each ate a third of the meat. Unsatisfied, they packed away the tent and half-ran, half-dragged themselves the last stretch of the journey. Hadvar constantly sucked on a large icicle. He hadn't been this hungry since joining the Legion.

"There!" Lydia exclaimed when she first spotted the Ice Mountain. Gelebor gazed thoughtfully at the island and Hadvar sighed in relief. '_Food!_' he screamed to himself. He noticed the wind ceased but the cold air lingered. He walked forward, imagining the smell of roast beef and grilled leeks. Oh, he was so famished, he longed for grilled leeks.

"Wait!" Gelebor yelled, pulling him back. "The ice, it is thin here." The Nord became aware of the groaning in the surface under them. The Elf flopped down onto his belly and crawled until he was sure the ice was safe again. He waved at Hadvar to come.

He did the same, squirming on his front and reaching Gelebor in a few mintutes, then they both beckoned to Lydia.

Things got even worse.

Out of the three of them, she was the lightest. They all assumed she would be quicker and safer as she crossed dangerous ground. The groaning grew louder as she hovered over the thinnest part.

"Careful, Lydia!" Hadvar shouted. She glimpsed up at him, a smirk on her mouth. There was another groan and then a scream as the ice cracked and she plummeted into the water.

Hadvar sprinted forward, falling onto his stomach at the edge of the ice. Lydia clung onto a large block and reached for him. Already, her skin was deathly pale and her lips turned blue.

"Hadvar," she managed to say as her teeth chattered. They both made grabs at one anothers' hand but their fingers only brushed off each other. The block slipped from her grasp and she barely kept her head above the water.

"Hadvar, help me!" she said before disappearing from his sight.

"LYDIA!"

He dived into the water and swam to the sinking Nord. In the complete dark, he caught hold of her and brought her to the surface, except he smacked his head against the ice. Hadvar panicked.

He thrusted his fists on the cold surface, screaming underwater. He pulled Lydia to and fro, searching for the break in the ice. They were trapped to die here together. Hadvar held her closer to him, thinking of the future they _could_ have had together.

At the brink of his death, Hadvar realised...he loved her. He loved her ever since he met her on that rainy day in Whiterun when she joined in the forces to protect the city from the Stormcloaks. He loved when she chewed on her hair when she was nervous. He loved her smile, her laugh and the lavender that she always smelled of. If he was to marry anyone, it would be her. It would've her, the Dragonborn's housecarl.

A beam of light shone through the ice and someone jumped into the water, surrounded by thousands of bubbles. They hauled Hadvar and Lydia out and onto the solid surface. He gasped for air and shook uncontrollable. A thick, fur blanket was dropped onto his shoulders and he curled into its warmth...

'_Lydia!_'

She lay beside him, her green eyes wide open and lifeless. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead against her's.

"Until we meet again, my love," he whispered, and kissed her as she entered Sovengard.

Suddenly, several pairs of hands reached down and raised her from the ground. In his confused state, Hadvar let out a barbarian shout and scrawled at the pale arms. He leaned over her body, like a sabre cat would do to protect its prey, and cursed at them to stay back. Then, he saw two small pair of fur boots stroll forward and stopped inches away from him. He gazed up and looked upon the face of a Snow Elf woman. She had a brave, strong stance, her hair was cut to her shoulders and her eyes were so white, it seemed that there was only the whites and pupils in them, and no irises.

He stared into her two, mystic orbs and in a quick move, she struck him with the hilt of her blade and knocked himunconscious. The Snow Elf turned to Gelebor, saying with a stern voice, "Welcome home...brother."

* * *

**...Yeah. I had the middle section written a few weeks ago (my English teacher contributed) and the other two parts just flowed out. I know, I wrote this pretty quick but there's also times when a writer can't stop writing! **

**And they finally arrived at the Ice Mountain. Yay! So, anyone suspect a bad guy by now?  
Lydia! Poor Lydia, a dagger peirced my heart when I wrote this, and Hadvar! Poor guy. **

**Any thoughts? Why not review, whether you have an account or not!**

**Please excuse any grammer or spelling mistakes that slipped past me (and my dad who was kind enough to stop and proof read this). **

**Onto Chapter 12!**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**

**(By the way, I updated the last chapter)**


	13. Sky Haven Temple

**Chapter Twelve**

**Sky Haven Temple**

Since Arí had set off to the Snow Elves almost a week ago, Kelda had settled pretty well in the Blade's headquaters in Skyrim. Although the stone walls gave the illusion that the place was big and cold, she found it quite 'homey'. It seemed to her that Eoghan was very comfortable in his new residence. He slept soundly every night and was up at the break of dawn, already growing accustomed to the daily routine - sleep, eat, train, guard and the rare dragon hunt. Of course, Kelda wouldn't even allow her son to _leave_ the temple, never mind going on a dragon hunt.

The Blades themselves were very welcoming. There was only five of them (excluding Delphine); Esbern, Glasha gro-Narzalbur, Dar'Rathra, Jorund Swift-Axe and Raynil Drath. It was a strange combination of men (and woman). Esbern was a scholar, the brains of the whole orginisation. Jorund was their smith and obvious warrior. Raynil preferred long-range, in both archery and magic. Dar'Rathra came up with all the tricks and traps to take down a dragon, and was fairly capable .

And Glasha...well, it was no secret she was a former bandit in Cyrodil, and she defended her Orc stronghold against the Thalmor two years previous. For the only woman (besides Delphine) among the Blades, sometimes it seemed _she_ was the only man there, although she cooked, kept the fires going and was in charge of the dogs.

"Vension stew again today, Glasha?" Kelda asked as Glasha stirred up the fire.

"Yes."

She also gave short answers and rarely engaged in conversation. In truth, Kelda found the Orc very boring. It was to her that Glasha didn't want them there, the other Blades were bad enough. She shouldn't blame the former bandit. Cicero has spent the past few days stuck in his journals and was 'too busy', as he had said, to help with any chores. Amelia, well, there wasn't much to say. She was just a child and Kelda found it almost impossible to put her to sleep every night as she screamed for her Papa. Although, Glasha helped out a bit in those perdicaments; she was the first to catch on that the girl absolutely adored the hounds; Glasha's eyes bewildered her; and with those amber orbs, Amelia didn't argue, resist or cry when she was told to go to bed by the Orc.

"You'd make a good mother, Glasha," Kelda said to her one night when Amelia was fast asleep.

"Hm... Perhaps."

The stone room smelled of vension, potatoes and carrots. Glasha was placing the bowls and cutlary onto the table, Raynil sat on his bed, fletching a new quiver of arrows, and Kelda sitched up a rip on Eoghan's burgandy tunic. All was quiet inside the hall, Esbern and Cicero made no sound as they both had their heads stuck in books. Jorund was on look-out, standing outside by the big face in the Akaviri ruins, and Dar'Rathra, Koren, Amelia and Eoghan were in the great courtyard, overlloking the countryside.

The Khaijit and Altmer managed to keep the two Nord children occupied. They setted up a small swing on the tree at the end of the yard. Amelia played on it almost every day, much to their amusement - but not so much to Kelda's. Her face went almost (just almost) as red as her hair when she first saw the small girl swinging back and forth, high in the air. The ropes on the seat were very thin, and she pointed out - quite viciously - how Amelia could go plummeting done the cliff if the ropes snapped. She was either worriedfor the girl's safety...or for Arí's head.

Dar'Rathra was showing Eoghan how to construct a snare, much to the boy's pleasure, when there was sudden retching noice coming from the dog pen. They raced over to see Culainn, a tall hound with a dark, red coat, choking on something. The Khaijit hesitated before opening the gate. The dogs didin't trust him, all seven growled whenever they laid eyes on him.

Culainn was swiping his paws over his head, like he did if there was something in his eye...or if he was just trying to get an itch.

"What should we do, Dar?" Eoghan asked, gazing anxiously at thee dog. The Khaijit's tail curled nervously.

"Go get Glasha," he said. The boy dashed up the steps, squeezed through the stiff doors and his footsteps echoed through the hall. The Orc was satisfied with the supper and was pouring the stew into the bowls as Eoghan ran in. She looked up at him, a frown creasing on her green skin.

"Glasha... Culainn...is choking," he panted, falling down on his rump. She dropped everything and sprinted to the dog pen.

Dar'Rathra, Koren, and Amelia in his arms, stood outside the pen, watching helplessly as the dog continued to choke. Glasha flashed them a glare.

"They won't let us go near him, Glash," Dar'Rathra protested, shrinking away as she hopped over the fence. The hounds howled and barked at their mitress. They spun in circles and jumped in thee air in delight of her presence. She brushed two of them aside as she appraoched Culainn. Argus, the small Cyrodilic dog she picked up in Chorrol five years previous, snarled at her. He and Culainn were quite close, both arrived as pups and grew up together. Glasha stood over him, and bared her tusks, challenging him by growling back. Argus backed away, wining.

"Malacath perserve me. Another bone, Culainn," she said in an unusual soothing tone as she gripped onto the dog's upper jaw. The others watched in both horror and awe as she tugged the dog's mouth open, and put her hand down the dog's throat. He gagged and resisted her, Argus snarling in the sight of his friend's distress. Then, slowly, Glasha pulled out her hand with a bone, the size of her small finger, out of the dog's mouth.

She rubbed his head and threw the bone down the cliff for some other creature to eat and choke on. Any other creature but her dogs.

"Yay, Glasha!" Amelia cheered. Koren was speechless - not even he would put his hand down a war dog's throat, he wouldn't even go close to one. Glasha smirked at him, wiping Culainn's saliva off her breeches.

"Nice job, Koren," she said and returned to her cooking.

* * *

Karliah gazed out one of the many windows of Queen Aranel's palace. She sighed several times, worried about Arí. She hadn't seen him since they battled the many knights of the Snow Elves, and the last she heard, he was carried off to an unknown location. She looked back at her fellow members of the embassy. They seemed happy enough, particulary Vilkas as he was over the moons that his friend, Eorlund was safe and sound.

They chatted, oblivious to the situation. Nazir and Tiawyn were developing little more than friendship, her cheeks flushed red and he laughed nervously. Deep inside though, Karliah felt the same sorrow creeping its way back into her heart. Over thirty five years ago since Mercer betrayed Gallus, betrayed the Guild, and betrayed her.

No! She will _not_ be miserable. Koren was there, and although she had no feelings towards him, she loved him like he was an older brother. They were so similar, they were both unique to their own races. She had her eyes and he had his 'darkness' - the liquid black eyes, and his dark hair and skin. They had no family yet they had each other.

"Can you believe it's been two days already?" Delphine asked as she stood beside the Dunmer by the window. She had not spoken to the Blade since they fought in the court, as the Breton sat back and watched. "They keep us in here and the gods only know what they're doing to Arí! They could be torturing, interrogaiting him... They could've killed him already!"

Karliah snorted. "If they wanted to kill him, we'd be dead by now. Besides, Aranel seemed quite transfixed with the power of his Thu'um."

"It's '_Queen_ Aranel' to you, Chimer," the Snow Elf said with a harsh tone as she entered the chamber. Aranel sauntered towards them, her silver hair was tied back in a rough braid, the magnificent dresses she wore were replaced with a long-sleeved tunic and a black jerkin that reached her tighs. Her slender legs were masked with puffy, white breeches and dark, leather boots cupped her feet and shins.

To Eorlund, she was in her finest attire yet and she could get away with being mistaken for a pirate queen. In place of her crown, was an amulet with similiar design and her sword hung at her waist. She seemed...younger in the change of clothing.

Yet Karliah snarled when she was called Chimer once again. "I must insist you refrain from addressing me as 'Chimer'...my Lady." There was poison in her tone.

The queen chuckled cruelly. "Is that not what you are? A Chimer?"

"I am a _Dunmer_, born to two _Dunmer_. My skin is grey like the rest of my kind, but my eyes are blue like my ancestors the Chimer."

Aranel ignored her and turned to Tiawyn. "Forgive me for being so late in saying so, but I found your magic very impressive. You have my word that our Snow Elven magic will no longer be a secret, and your college will have full access to it-"

"If we ever return home," Delphine muttered under her breath. The Snow Elf swirled to face the old woman, a look of both annoyance and rage forming in her eyes.

"And you, Delphine, Blade and dragonslayer! You did nothing to help your friends. They could've died if my men overcummed them...and you did _nothing_!"

A haunting silence lingered in the room until there was a small knock on the door. Katyr stood in the doorway, beads of sweat on his brow and his chest rose and fell rapidly.

"My Lady, I bring a urgent message from the docks..." He leaned against the doorframe and slid down to the floor. Aranel rushed to him and felt his flushed cheeks.

"Katyr!" she half-said, half-laughed, "Did you run all the way from the docks?"

"What are they saying?" Nazir asked. Eorlund frowned, trying to transalte. "The Grandmaster has brought a message from the sea - the docks? - and Queen Aranel is to head to the throne room immediately. I guess we are to follow."

The embassy returned to where they battled only fourty-eight hours previous. Three maids scrubbed vigourously to clean away the thick, dried blood off the floor. The bodies of the fallen knights were taken away and candles were lit in their honour around the great hall.

"What about their families?" Tiawyn questioned the queen as they drew near to the dais. Aranel's face turned grim, and her eyes gave way a secret. "They had none."

There was a clink of chains against the stone ground and all heads turned to Arí. The Dragonborn was bruised and battered. His hair was shaved off and there were many cuts along his scalp. His nose was broken and his bottom lip torn. Several of his fingers were pulled out of place and his left arm was fractured. Despite his many injuries, he was in good humour.

"By the Eight!" Tiawyn shrieked and ran to him. He collasped in to her arms and then winced at the pain in his ribs.

"What did you do to him?!" Vilkas shouted at the queen. The Nord towered over the Elf and yet, she held her ground.

"We do not know the kind of power he possesses! He could have killed us with - what did you call it? - his Thumb!"

"Thu'um," corrected Eorlund, "Besides, he was taught the Way of the Voice. He will not kill innocents with his Shouts."

Karliah pulled a healing potion out of her pack and poured the sweet, pink liquid down his throat. "If you asked, he would have told everything there needs to be known about the power of his Voice!" There was a soft, gold aura that lingered around Arí for a few moments. He sighed in relief as the pain dulled.

"You only wanted to torture him!" Nazir said, both amusement and anger in his tone. They all yelled at the queen for actions, yet Arí held up his hand.

"What's done, is done. I do not blame Aranel for her actions. I knew the consequence of demostrating my Thu'um. The Snow Elves have never seen it is thousands of years, perhaps never. But she is right to fear it."

"I'm sorry, Arí. If you wish, our healers will do everything they can to put back every bone and clean every cut."

He smiled at her. "Thank you. And...no hard feelings." Sh grinned back and apologized to every one of them.

Then, the giant doors across the chamber creaked open and a Snow Elf strolled inside. Aranel skipped towards her and pulled her into an embrace. The Elf, smaller than the queen, didnot hug her back and pushed her away once she grew very uncomfortable.

"Lytria! Sister! How fared the raid?" Aranel asked. The younger Snow Elf - Lytria - looked past her shoudler at the embassy. She raised an eyebrow and didnot ask.

"It fared well...and I return with the company of a lost brethern and two Tamrielans. Perhaps they are part of your 'guests'." Lytria's voice was not as sweet or friendly as her sister's, it was much lower and contained both annoyance and sarcasm.

With a wave of her hand, her raiding band hauled in several bags of treasure, food and rolls of cloth - velvet, silk, linen and cotton. Then, they carried in the body of a Nord woman and dragged a Nord into the room. A Snow Elf in their armour followed them in, cautious and weary.

Aranel gazed just as wearily at him. "Welcome to my court, sir... Forgive me, I do not know you."

"I am Knight-Padalin Gelebor, of the Greath Chantry of Auri-El," he replied, bowing his head slightly. The queen's eyes widened. "Auri-El...? You-You are from our homeland, you know the old ways." For years, she kept their old religion from her people. Now here, as her hundredth year of ruling the people of the Snow Elves was approaching, a knight entered her court. A protector of Auri-El.

"Yes, Queen Aranel. It is my intention to restore the faith to our people."

She gulped. "Faith? There have been no quarries or any argument for the last few thousand years because we had _no_ faith. I believe your intentions have ended in vain."

There was sparkle in his eye and he smirked. "I haven't even started yet."

"Arí!" the Nord man scrambled from the tight grip of his captors' and raced towards the Dragonborn. Arí looked at him, puzzled at his appearance.

"Hadvar, what are you doing here?"

"I was among the party to find Gelebor, and was one of two who made it out alive. I found him - Gelebor - and we're here now. But Arí... I'm sorry, she-"

He pulled back from the dais, kicking and screaming as he went. Tiawyn helped Arí to his feet and to walk to Lytria's raiding band. Hadvar was whipped and beaten for his 'escape'. Aranel, seeing him talk to Arí, ordered them to stop as she was already in to the bad book of most of the embassy.

"Hadvar," Arí mumbled and sat beside his friend, exhausted already. Hadvar was crying, not for the pain, but fot the sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Arí. I tried to save her, I did - I _swear_! I tried, I tried, I tried..."

Suddenly, Tiawyn gasped. She clasped her hands over her mouth and tears were spilling from hr scarlet eyes. Arí followed her gaze...to Lydia's body.

"No!" he whispered and pulled himself to her. She was laid flat on a stretcher, her skin was as white as death, his lips were blue and her hair was frozen. He reached and rested his hand on her's.

Lydia. His friend, his ally. From the beginning she was there, always covering his back. There when he wandered aimlessly through Blackreach, searching for the Elder Scroll. There when he stormed Windhelm with the Imperial Legion. There when he saved Kelda from the Forsworn.

Now, she was there, lying dead in front of him. He turned to Lytria, rising up without any help.

"What did you do?! Did you kill her?! Why did you not save her?!"

The Snow Elf back away, holding her hands up in defence. "I did nothing to her, Nord-"

"Nothing!? You could've saved her!" Then, he Shouted, throwing the queen's sister off her feet and smashing her into one of the tables dedicated to the dead knights. It snapped beneath her and candles rolled along the floor. There was a rattling sound, and Lytira covered her face and head in time as the glass of the window above, shattered and rained down onto her. Arí fell onto his knees, sobbing aloud for all to hear.

"Arí," Aranel said, and held him in her arms. Despite what she was told about his Thu'um, she knew he Shouted out of grief. For would she not do the same thing?

* * *

_'Mother and Keeper must go. I am not the Listener, and never will be. But I am the Keeper. I must serve my Mother's will above my own. I must find her Listener. I must teach Astrid the error of her ways, the beauty and necessity of the Old Ways. I have sent the letter to Astrid. We leave soon. But Cicero will keep this Sanctuary as his Sanctuary! A place to rest and ply my trade, for I once more take up the blade, and send some lucky souls to Him, when laughter strikes, as fits my whim!'_

Cicero read the last entry of his journal. He could not believe...yet he did. Blank memories were being filled in. All alone in the Sanctuary in Cheydinhal, then in Dawstar and then meeting the Listener in Falkreath. The silence maddened him. The jester possessed him. The Night Mother loved him.

_No! _he snapped to himself. He was sane now, and he will be for the rest of his life. His memories of Maxima were the strongest. She was his apprentice, she was his friend.

The Blades welcomed him into their home. They knew not of his...former nature, and gladly dismissed it when he told them. Esbern was most helpful. He suggested to say simple sentences if Cicero was ever feeling like he was losing himself.

_My name is Cicero. I am an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood. I joined twenty-six years ago. I am the Keeper. Maxima is my apprentice._

Simple sentences with simple words. Esbern was right, this helped.

The sun was shining bright through the clouds. The dogs were barking and yelping as Glasha fed them their supper, Amelia and Eoghan watching nearby. The Nord, Jorund was practising with his new sword on a training dummy, and Dar'Rathra was sitting on the grass, sketching new traps and devices for capturing a dragon. At the end of the courtyard, Koren stood overlooking the many hills of the Reach. He was wearing his Nightingale armour, and his bow was held tensely in his hand.

Cicero walked to him, sitting himself on a boulder closeby. "What are you looking at Koren?"

The Altmer remained quiet until replying, "They know we're here. All of us, especially Kelda and Eoghan." Cicero frowned.

"Who?"

"The Thalmor."

* * *

**Oh, now the Thalmor are entering! Another plot twist! So, Glasha gra-Narzalbur has been introduced at the start. She's also a very important character, like Koren. So, the dogs Argus and Culainn are based off my own monsters, (Murphy is Argus, Oscar is Culainn). And what she did to Culainn (sticking her hand down his throat to pull out the bone), might I suggest NEVER doing that. The smell of dog will linger for a few hours afterward, And how I know? Don't ask _**

**I noticed I forgot about Delphine in the fighting in the last chapter, so...just wait and see.**

**And Cicero, I'm rereading Mockingjay and that sorta gave me the idea.**

**Any thoughts? Review and share! Excuse any mistakes that slipped through my fingers.**

**Hope you enjoyed reading!**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	14. A PLot Unravelling

**Chapter 13**

**A Plot Unravelling**

Tiawyn sat beside Karliah in the gallery above the great hall, empty bottles of wine, mead, ale and sujamma scattered under the seats. She lifted a Cyrodilic Brandy from the crate of alcohol and examined the label.

"118. Good year and almost as old as I am," she said, slurring her words and unscrewing the cork. Karliah gave her a funny look.

"What are you talkin' about!? You ain't older than me!" She gulped down some sujamma before dropping it over the ledge, and waited for the smash before erupting in laughter.

Lydia's death had taken a toll on Tiawyn, and Karliah was more than happy to share one too many drinks with her. Of course, Hadvar hadn't eaten, slept or drank in five days.

"I'm talking about my father. He wanted to marry me off to a pig-faced, snot nose Altmer, with a low rank in the Dominion! I thought he loved me! My father, not the Altmer. He was there all my life, when my mother died and my sister went missing after she was stolen away from us. So, I ran off to Skyrim, pursung my dreams to study magic!" Tiawyn downed the brandy in one go. For a Wood Elf, she drank like a Nord.

"Well, good for you! I've been a thief my whole life, since I came into this world. Sure, there were ups and downs. I fell in love, he was murdered, I ran for twenty-five years and Arí helped me avenge his death. But, what now? I'm the granddaughter of Queen Barenziah! I have a right to claim the throne, yet I know nothing of politics! I best just stay where I am. Here. With you, dear Tiawyn. My cousin Elf. Together, we will drink all there is to drink on this mountain and then we will search for cheese!"

Tiawyn giggled. "Cheese! I hate cheese! It's yellow, soft and sometimes smells."

They went on in their drunken state for the rest of the night into the morning. The Snow Elves, obviously rarely ever seeing anyone so drunk, kept their distance from the Dunmer and Bosmer as they sang through the tunnels, searching for more mead as they said they would. It was midday when they began to sober up and Karliah was developing a rather terrible headache, like someone was hitting her head with a hammer.

She groaned and moaned as they wandered around the chasms, looking for the way back to their quarters, until they reached a magnicent view.

"Wow," whispered Tiawyn. They stood on a balcony, overlooking a cave with gemstones shining in the magelight. Every nameable gem peirced thought the stone wall, and Karliah pulled several out as 'soveigners'.

"...Why didn't you do anything, Lytria?!" exclaimed the voice of Her Majesty, Queen Aranel.

"He was a Nord! I wouldn't think twice about helping one of them apes! And that other Snow Elf, Gelebor, he wasn't helping either," same the reply from Lytria.

"That is his business, not our's... Have you talked to Faeron lately? He's been asking for you."

"No, I haven't. Since he proposed, I'm terrified of the idea of marraige..."

Aranel sighed. "You can't back out of this, Lytria. Not like the last ten."

The younger sister chuckled at the memories. "Yes, you're right, as always. Yet, what I heard about how he was with the College of Winterhold. You were there, Aranel, you heard what the Bosmer said."

Tiawyn's heart launched as they mentioned her and her college. She crept into the shadows with Karliah and continued to eavesdrop in the conversation.

"Aye, I was and I heard it all. Faeron's family led the last battle with the Snow Prince, and his sister... She led _one _raid and was taken hostage by pirates for years. Thankfully, they were too stupid to even realise she was a Snow Elf. But, the pirates were Nords and in the end, they raped and killed her. You can understand why he has so much hatred to the Tamrielans, particulary the Nords."

'_That still didn't give him the right to murder Pierre and Tanisha,_' Tiawyn snapped in her mind. They were only in their teenage years and showed great talent and potential for magic.

There was silence in the cave for a long time, the Dunmer and Bosmer thought they had left.

"I assume you have heard the rumours then, Sister?" came Lytria's voice once more.

"Aye, I have. I know there's someone who wants to usurp my throne."

* * *

Eoghan was having a really bad day. It was snowing heavily outside, and even Glasha thought it unwise to go out. Everyone was crammed around the fire in the sleeping chamber, huddled in blankets - except Esbern as he was busy trying to translate an ancient text to another location of a dragon.

Kelda craddled Amelia as, for the fourth time that afternoon, she cried for her Papa. His mother cooed and consoled the girl, rocking her in her arms. In truth, he was slightly jealous. Kelda was _his_ mother and Amelia's died for a stupid cause.

There was a thud of cloth beside him while Koren settled down in the heap. His dark hair was greasy from not being washed in days, his skin carried a bit of grime and he smelled of sweat and fish.

Fish?

"How are you today, Eoghan?" the Altmer asked, stretching his hands towards the warmth of the roaring flames.

"Fine."

The young Nord had noticed the Elf's exclussion from the group since the day before. He and Cicero had kept to themselves since he had seen them, standing at the edge of the courtyard and talking in hushed voices.

Suddenly, without warning, he missed Naimra. The Redguard girl had always something up her sleeve, something fun and exciting to do. Climb along the city's walls, fish in the White River or watch the Companions train from the Skyforge. But she was in Whiterun, probably tending Adrianne's forge and crafting a new blade or axe. And he was here, hiding from an threat unknown to him with a not-completely-sane assassin and a thief with a past. The Blades were good company, but he missed his friend.

Echoes of the dogs howling bounced off the walls, and the hounds sprinted into the chamber. Kelda tightened her arms around Amelia and sheltered her from the noses and tongues. Eoghan laughed, and welcomed small Argus by scratching behind the black dog's ear.

Glasha had a menacing smile on her face as she sauntered in behind her dogs. Amelia was squealing with all the excitement and she wondered from Kelda to rub and caress Culainn.

"By the Nine, Glasha! They scared the shit out of me!" Jorund exclaimed, looking down with sad, blue eyes at his spilt tankard of mead. The Orc poured him another round and sipped from the bottle.

"The snowfall is becoming heavier, Jorund Swift-Axe. I rather not have my dogs frozen to death," she replied with a dark tone to her voice. They all sat in silence for another hour, Esbern's quill scratched at the parchment, the dogs snored, all snuggled up together in one bundle of limbs and fur, and Amelia hummed a soft melody.

"Where's Cicero?" Raynil asked, trying to break to quietness, but no one answered. Afternoon turned to evening, and evening turned to night. Amelia was already asleep, her head resting on Culainn's neck. The dog kept still, like he didn't want to wake her if he so much as moved.

"Ah ha!" shouted Esbern behind everyone. They turned and gazed at the old man while he did a little dance, waving paper high above his head.

"I've done it! Eight weeks working on the transalation and I've done it!" he took long strides towards the other Blades. He tugged the map of Skyrim from the table .

"There, at the heart of the Jerall Mountains," he pointed, "An old, legendary dragon dwells there. Not one but two! There is a secret path that leads you through the maze, it's called Hero's Edge and the dragons' lair is... Well, it actually doesn't have a name. Too dangerous to travel that far and the path itself is treacherous."

"Why is it called Hero's Edge?" Dar'Rathra asked, his tail flicking eagerly.

"I'm assuming the trail is very narrow and only hero's have managed to survive it. But beware, there will be many trials along the way. Take heed, Glasha."

She smirked. "You don't have to tell me 'til the morning, because that's when we leave."

Koren jumped to his feet and ran after Glasha as she left the room and strolled down the stone corridor towards Alduin's Wall.

"Glasha!" he called, grabbing her by the elbow. She stopped and turned to face him, glaring with her narrowed, amber eyes.

"What?" she hissed, shrugging his grip off her arm. The Altmer gave her an apologetic look.

"Look, today, I spotted some Thalmor scouts roaming the hills across the river. I don't think it's a good idea to hunt the dragon - or rather, dragons - with you, Jorund, Raynil and Dar'Rathra gone, there's only myself, Cicero, Esbern and Kelda to defend ourselves. What if the Thalmor attacked here if you left? I know they're just waiting to."

"I pledged to rid Tamriel of all dragons. If I could, I would stay behind to defend the temple by your side, but I can't leave the other three to fight a dragon all by themselves, can I? Not when there's _two_ dragons. Besides, eight months ago I fell ill and they had to kill one themselves. They're lucky they came back alive."

He bowed his head. "I see. Well, don't say I didn't warn you-"

"Koren, listen to me," she interrupted, her glare easing into sad eyes, "Once the dragons are dead, I'll send Raynil back immediately. That's the least I can do."

"Thank you, my friend."

* * *

In the year 81 of the third era, King Solion, Aranel's father, secretly founded the network of spies. Few of the Snow Elves knew of this organization and those who did carried this knowledge to their grave. These spies were scattered around the mountain, as servants, fishermen, tailors, miners, chefs, raiders - they were everywhere. They were the eyes and ears of the kingdom, and they knew everything and anything of all the citizens.

For seventy-six years, Katyr had been the Grandmaster of the Her Majesty's spies and earned the title with another fifty years of 'spying'. And as Grandmaster, he had the deadliest secret in the kingdom. King Solion whispered it into Katyr's ear on his deathbed, before his daughters arrived.

Dathlue skipped down the stone corridor, the snowdrops bouncing in her hair, and stopped at the last magelight. Katry strolled - sauntered after her and took her hand.

"Don't run off, flower," he said and walked on into the darkness. In this part of the mountain, hardly anyone walked these tunnels. There were no jewels nor metals to be dug up, and there were no streams of water. The walls and floor were too ragged and uneven to house the Elves, but by no means were the rooms and chambers too small for _anything_.

Katyr conjured an orb of light, brighting up the path. Dathlue gripped onto her father's hand tighter and whimpered slightly.

"Don't be afraid, flower."

They continued, summoning eiight other candlelights and climbing over boulders, until they reached a large, blach stone door. It opened at the touch of the Grandmaster's palm, lowering into the ground.

"Grandmaster," came a voice from within and a young Elf stepped into Katyr's light. His head was shaved and the side of his face was tattooed in black ink of Falmer design.

"Baelon," Katyr replied, feeling his daughter squeeze his fingers tighter. Dathlue was always afraid of Baelon's appearance since the first time he brought her down here. At first, his wife had objected, saying a child of four winters old shouldn't be seeing such things, but finally she understood.

"How fare they? All alive and well?"

"Yes, master, all seven thousand, nine hundred and thirty of them," Baelon said, waving his hand and the massive chamber illuminated.

There were rows and columns of large ice blocks, as tall as a man and as wide as one. Katyr gazed inside one, wiping away the snow and frost, and saw a Nord, frozen - screaming, maybe letting out his infamous war cry. His blue eyes were wide with fear, rage and confusion. His blond hair was still blown back by the magic that turned him into this state.

An army. Of pirates, bandits, mercenaries and soldiers. All trained to kill. _All_ under the spell of the Snow Elves. When Aranel, and her father before her, first stopped the execution of Tamrielans whenever they stumbled upon thier island, they both had one thing in mind: an army. The Snow Elves were few in number and most lived humbled lives, there was no way that they could defend themselves if they were suddenly attacked.

When the captains were taken to the palace, Katyr and his spies took the others, putting them under their influence and freezing them into the blocks of ice. There were Imperial soldiers, sailors of all races and even a few of Deathbrand's crew. They were his. They were his queen's.

She wanted an empire, and he would gladly give it to her.

* * *

**There's shit happening, people! **

**Sorry for the delay, school is crazy with the summer holidays (or vacation) are coming up and I've signed up for a lot of projects too. Not only is most of my time spent working in those but I had a serious writer's block. **

**Thanks for all the reviews! Hope you enjoyed reading and feel free to leave a comment :)**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	15. Before The Storm

**Chapter 14**

**Before The Storm**

Arí slowly closed the door behind him. After spending the last few days exploring the Ice Mountain, discovered its many caves and swam in its many pools, he wanted to join his embassy and...relax. The Snow Elves were a peaceful people, trying to get by in this harsh area on Nirn, _and_ they didn't have enough of men to attack Tamriel. Connections will be made, trading and so forth.

"And who are you?" Delphine called from her usual spot by the window. Everyone's heads looked up at their leader. It seemed a long time since they were all in the same room together. Last he heard; Hadvar got into a row with the Princess Lytria; Tiawyn and Karliah were seen drunk; Nazir decided to join the Elves on the latest raiding mission; and Vilkas happily wandered their streets, meeting all that he saw and making a few friends. Truth be told, Arí wasn't expecting the Nord to be so open with the Elves, with the Companions history with their ancestors and such.

"Would you like a formal introduction, Delphine?" Arí said, mimicking her tone of voice. She waved him off and stared back out of her window. He sat beside Nazir, gladly accepting the cup of wine. One thing was for sure, the Snow Elves liked to stock up on their drink (although, there mightn't be much left since Karliah and Tiawyn had their drinking episode).

"So, Listener, shall we begin today by drawing up a treaty?" the Redguard asked, sipping at his own wine. He smirked as Tiawyn wrinkled her nose as its smell reached her. Oh, the years to come when he would tease her over these events.

"I must bring it up with Queen Aranel first... However, did _anyone_ learn something about our hosts?"

Karliah leaned forward in her chair, indigo eyes staring into his. "Tiawyn and I, yesterday morning, we came across the Queen and her sister and, as you can imagine, we eavesdropped." She waited for it to sink in before continuing. "Aranel, much loved by her people, fears there may be a traitor among her court, who'll take her throne from her...and Lytria will be married to that Lord Faeron who ordered the Elves who found us, to kill us. I say we should stick around for the wedding."

The Dragonborn didn't like that menacing smile she had on her lips, and Hadvar had one too.

"That changed our mission entirely!" Vilkas exclaimed. "We can't become allies with the Elves when there's a rebellion. We either take sides now or head home!"

"I'm siding with the Queen."

Everyone jumped as Gelebor suddenly appeared by the fireplace. He was standing there all along, but was so quiet, no one really noticed him.

"We're not exactly going to seperate, Gelebor-"

"These people - my people - have been lost in the dark for centuries and now there is light. The light of Auri-El! Queen Aranel has accepted my petition to teach our people the religion - _their_ religion."

"And you believe this will calm any uprising?" Delphine snorted. She leaped from her seat and stormed to face the Elf. Small in size, she stood tall next to him and her eyes were like two blue flames.

"Yes, I do."

That setted her off.

"Forty years ago, the Thalmor first decalred war on the Empire. We Blades fought vigourously, in the shadows and in the battlefield. When the war was over, the Elves, _your_ kind, set out to eliminate the last of us, few in number as we were.

"I watched as the people I called my brothers and sisters _die_ by Elven hand! We were showed no mercy! Even after the Great War, there were quarrels. Why? Because the Thalmor banished a god! It lead up to the civil war in Skyrim. Thousands were dead! Cities were destroyed. Even now, after ten years, we're still rebuilding.

"So, Knight-Padalin Gelebor, you say you believe that religion will calm the uprising. Well, let me tell you something, it will cause more problems to the Snow Elves."

No one said a word. Her voice still echoed in their ears. Vilkas, Hadvar and Eorlund nodded in agreement, while Tiawyn and Karliah shook their heads.

Arí could see matters rising now, the Elves will side with Gelebor and the Men will side with Delphine. He hoped it wouldn't come to this. He knew the consequences of having different races in the embassy, the disagreements and the arguing.

He looked at Nazir, the only one staying nuetral...but the Redguard had his eyes fixed on the Wood Elf.

"Stop!" Arí yelled. "This does not come down to religion. It doens't even come down to us. The Snow Elves will _choose_ to accept Gelebor's religion, not us! Please, sit down."

Reluctantly, but eventually, Delphine and Gelebor went back to their seats. He waited for the glaring to stop before speaking up again.

"_I_ believe Aranel is a good leader for the Snow Elves. She is kind, merciful and her people love her. I will proudly stand by her side if there is a rebellion. Do you agree?"

One by one, their heads nodded.

"It's settled then, we'll back the Queen."

"Does anyone have any suspicions yet?" Nazir asked in his deep voice. You could tell he longed to see the traitor to be executed publicly.

"Her sister, Princess Lytria," Eorlund said. "You say, she is to be married to Lord Faeron? Lately, he and the Queen aren't gettin' along. Also, through the marraige, Faeron will rise in title. If Aranel is to suddenly die with no heirs, he will become king."

"You're saying someone should fuck Aranel?"

"_No_! By Talos, no. Faeron is a slimey bastard, he has his own little group of spies. If he is to make a move, it will be done in the shadows. He could have Aranel assassinated."

Nazir's dark eyes widened until you could see the whites. "By Sithis! Faeron could have contacted the Dark Brotherhood!"

Arí frowned. "You gave enough contacts to your Dark Brothers and Sisters to last them two months. What makes you think they'll accept more without your order?"

"Money, Arí. Sweet, golden money. Were we not so tempted when Motierre promised so much? Were we not so amazed by our reward?"

"Then who would be so stupid to come here and assassinate Aranel?"

"There is one, a Breton who goes by the name of Roland-"

"Perhaps," Tiawyn interrupeted, "Because you are already here, Nazir, your Family would have sent a message? I mean, they wouldn't waste septims to get another assassin to the Ice Mountain while they have you here, squandering in deep with the Snow Elves. We are closer to Aranel than any other outside has gotten to."

Nazir relaxed. "Maybe you're right," and gave her one of his charming smiles. She blushed and looking away, trying to hide her grin.

Arí coughed. "Ahem, now that we've that sorted, we need to get in Aranel's good books-"

"I will," Gelebor said, "I will befriend the Queen, making her think I only wish to preach, and I will protect her. That is what I was trained to do, protect."

"Very well. Karliah, eavesdrop some more. Listen in on some more conversations between nobles and even commonfolk. Tiawyn, with the mages. They'll trust you, seeing as you only want to learn their Magic.

"Vilkas and Hadvar, befriend the guards. Go to the tavern with them, play card games and have duels or something. Eorlund, see what you can do. Stick to our usual routine so you don't seem...'unusual' to the Elves.

"Nazir, keep an eye on Faeron - if you can. Delphine, see what Katyr, the Grandmaster of Her Majesty's spies, gets up to, I don't trust him one bit."

"What will you do, Arí?" the Blade asked, as nosy as she ever will be.

"Me? I'll do the impossible - befriend Princess Lytria."

* * *

Glasha's boot stomped into the shin-high snow and her amber eyes gazed across the clearing to the twelve figures, standing at the treeline.

She, the other Blades - Jorund, Raynil and Dar'Rathra - and her dogs had walked through the Reach and into the hold of Falkreath. The Throat of the World stood east and the Jerall Mountains were beginning to loom on the horizon. The snow this far south wasn't as deep, and they found it easier - and faster - to travel. It was as though the Snow Elves' weather effect had reached Cyrodil.

Rathra hissed and stopped in his tracks. "I don't like this, Glasha."

Despite the fact they didn't always 'get along', all seven of the Orc's hounds tensed and growled in agreement.

"What do you see, Raynil?" Jorund asked, swinging his battleaxe over his shoulder. With his Elven eyes, he saw them in their black robes and moonstone armour.

"Thalmor," he replied.

"Let me say hello to my friends," Glasha said mockingly, with a slight hint of laughter.

A Justiciar parralled her as she marched towards them, her head held high and proud, until they met in the middle of the clearing. The Altmer smiled at her, "Good afternoon, Glasha gra-Narzalbur."

"Medora. What brings you here?" the Orc muttered. Culainn stood at her heels, snarling. "Or is that too stupid a question?"

"I wouldn't call you stupid, Glasha, but yes, our intentions are clear."

"Very clear, you're very predictable, Medora. I read you like a book when you attacked my stronghold. I could guess your every move and tactic. It's still standing, by the way, Narzalbar. My brother's chief."

Medora snorted. "How _lovely_. Why don't you run off home and leave your Blades to me. You're tired, Glasha, and you've fought so hard for so long, you _deserve _to go home, to the place you've always protected with your _life_."

Oh, it was so tempting. Just walk away, leave the others to their fate and _go home_. It was _so_ easy. How many years has she longed to breath in the fresh, crisp air of the Velothi Mountains, walk the paths she took as a child, and place flowers on her mother's grave? Many, many years. She ran away when she was fifteen and that was half her lifetime ago. Yes, once or twice a year she visited the stronghold, yet she never truly stayed for long.

Yet, for fifteen years, she's been fighting. If she walked away now, all that she fought for, will be for _nothing_!

She looked Medora straight into her pale, green eyes, and as an answer, lodged a dagger into her skull. The High Elf's mouth opened with a soundless scream. Her body stiffened before falling backwards into the snow.

The eleven other Thalmor were completely taken by surprise and certainly weren't expecting Culainn to jump on one of them so quickly. His bared teeth had ripped out the Thalmor soldier's throat before the others came to their senses and pulled him off.

Glasha pulled her dagger from Medora's head, brought her fingers to her lips and whistled. A bark, a howl and battlecry came, and she was joined by her companions in running towards.

Once more, she threw her dagger, striking a wizard straight in the chest, and unsheathed her Orcish claymore. With a strong swipe, she disembowled the wizard, spinned and cut open a soldier's stomach, her intestines spilling out of the wound.

The hounds jumped and pushed another Thalmor to the ground, and the Elf screamed as they tore and bit into his skin, killing him slowly. Jorund went crazy with his axe, severing limbs off three Elves, and his eyes were wide and bloodshot.

Dar'Rathra lost all interest in his weapons and released his claws. He dived, sliding through the legs of a Justiciar, came up and ripped the flesh off his face. The Elf howled in pain as the blood poured. But the Khajiit was merciful and he plunged his claws into his heart.

Raynil drew back two arrows on his bowstring and targeted the last remaining Thalmor, the arrows peircing him in the side as he tried to turn and run.

"Fucking Thalmor," Jorund muttered and kicked a cleaved arm. Raynil grunted and slit the begging Thalmor's throat. He waited for the gurgling and choking to stop before taking his arrows back.

"Koren was right. They were watching us," Glasha said to them, scratching behind Argus's ear. All three of the men gaped at her.

"You knew and you never told us!" Raynil exclaimed. He passed Dar'Rathra as the Khajiit looted the bodies.

The Orsimer glared at the Dunmer. "Aye, what of it?"

"Delphine trusted you to protect the Dragonborn's family, you knew the Thalmor were watching us and still you left them _unprotected_! Glasha, Koren and Cicero may be there but if Thalmor attacked, _Thalmor_. Delphine was wrong to trust you."

It struck her in the heart, his words. Her glare turned from anger to woe. Out of all the Blades, she found she was the closest to Raynil. Was it their Elven heritage? The common sense they both shared? She didn't know, but she was hurt by what he said.

Dar'Rathra suddenly caught her eye. The Khajiit was busy pocketing the treasures of the fallen Thalmor, a fat, wide grin on his face. Too busy to notice the mage pulling himself up. The Altmer smiled, menacingly, and his fuming with fire magic. Dar'Rathra's ears flicked and he turned to face him.

"AAAGGGHHH!"

The mage threw his firebolt and it struck Dar'Rathra in his chest, blowing him onto his back. Glasha shouted and for the third time, she fired her dagger into the High Elf's eye.

Dar'Rathra lay on the melted snow, gasping in shock. His leather armour had burned away where the ball of fire hit him, his fur was completely gone and his skin was fried black.

"Rathra!"

Jorund scrambled towards him. The Nord took his friend's hand and squeezed it tightly. Taking one look at the burn he tried not to grimpse.

"You're going to be okay," he said, reassuringly, and then look at Raynil and Glasha, "I have to take him home."

She wanted to say there was no hope for him, but she couldn't. The burn was deep, the flesh was jumping at every heartbeat and the blood oozed out.

"Here," she mumbled, fumbled a healing potion from her bag and began washing the sweet elixir onto his wound. Dar'Rathra whimpered, gripping Jorund's hand so hard, his fingers cracked. Glasha's hounds sat around them, their head bowed low, and then, Argus traipsed to the Khajiit and licked his cheek.

"Thank...you, Argus," he managed to say between gasps. The way the dog looked at him, he was almost smiling with his yellow eyes.

Glasha turned to Raynil. "Help Jorund take him home. Esbern should have the knowledge for...this. The dogs will go with you." The Dark Elf nodded, already lending a hand to place Dar'Rathra safely on the Nord's back.

"Are you not coming?" he asked, noticing her as she strolled away with Culainn still by her heels.

"No, I must eliminate these dragons. I can't turn my back on this."

Raynil nodded again. She smiled warmly at her friend and turned to Culainn. "I'm ready when you are." The dog barked, its tail wagging madly. One last look at her fellow Blades before she began her long, lonesome journey to the Heart of the Jerall Mountains.

* * *

Arí left the embassy to chatter away in Eorlund's chamber. He swore not to say a word to any Snow Elf, and as a Nord, he kept his promises. The Dragonborn felt a bit of peace, walking along the stone corridors of the Ice Mountain, yet he ached. _Ached_ for his wife, for his Kelda. He gave up this life long ago so he could be with her, and it was this life that led him away.

He reached the pool in no time, finding it deserted except for one person. The Princess Lytria. Could the impossible be the possible? Could he befriend her? The Elves told him it was hard to impress her. Words meant little, but actions. It was by actions that Lord Faeron won her heart over.

A foolish, drunk noble insulted the princess, calling her a half-bred whore. Faeron, deeply in love since he first laid eyes on her, challenged the noble to a duel. He won, not just the duel, but the princess's heart. At first, she was only interested in his friendship until it lead to more.

Arí was sure he could impress her, was he not Dovahkiin?

"Good evening, Your Highness," he greeted her. She wore a smiple, white silk tunic and trousers. Comfortable clothes, nothing anyone would expect royalty to wear.

"Lord Arí." She bowed, already bored by him.

"I apologise for Shouting you into the table. I know it was stupid of me-"

"Oh, I completely understand. You lost a friend."

He wasn't sure whether she was being sarcastic or genuine.

"Thank you. Are you on your way to Lady Aranel's chambers?"

"I am."

"I hope you don't mind if I accompany you. Not too keen on my own around this place."

"You found me just fine."

He followed her, talking happily about his childhood; all the hideouts and games he played in the Imperial City as just a small lad, the children he was friends with and his dreams. She listened, not intently, but she listened. Snickered at his funny memories, frowned at his sad ones, and smiled at his happy ones.

"This is it. I'll wait until you're finished if you..." she said.

"No, you might as well hear what I have to say. It may or may not be accepted but still," he butted in, knocking on the door. A young servant opened it and allowed them in.

Aranel lounged by the fire, her long hair loose and flowing. Like her sister, she wore comfortable attire. Arí bowed when he spotted her.

"Forgive me if I'm intruding, Your Majesty."

She smiled warmly. "No, not at all, Lord Arí. Would you like some wine?"

"Mead, if you don't mind."

"Of couse not!" With a click of her fingers, a bottle of Honeybrew Mead was in his hand. "Now, I suspect you wish to talk about some privy matters."

"Aye, but not exactly privy. I came here to form an alliance with you, between the Snow Elves and Tamriel."

They began discussing the treaty, the advantages and disadvantages. Lytria sat in silence, sipping her wine and offering her opinion the odd time. The facts were clear: trading would begin immediately, the raiding would stop and there would be peace between the two kingdoms. On the treaty, these would be in bigger, more complicated words. Aranel was every content with the notion.

"Is it settled then?" Arí asked, seeing the two moons high in the night sky.

"Yes, I believe it is. My scribes will begin on crafting on the treay in the morning. Until it is finished, you and your embassy are my honoured guests," the Queen said, her voice clear and proud. A quick glance at Lytria, Arí saw a slight hint of regret.

She knows something!

Maybe the embassy's suspisions were correct? Lytria and Faeron were probably in it together to kill Aranel and take her throne. All siblings were jealous of one another, were Lytria and Aranel not the same?

Maybe they were incorrect. But the sooner Arí found out, the safer Aranel, the Snow Elves, Tamriel will be...and the sooner he could go home.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews! This story has come a long way since I first began writing it on my dad's iPad.**

**May have promised something or another might have been revealed in this chapter but I had a writer's block and resulted in taking a step back and writing a new scene (middle section). I realised I could write going to Hero's Edge with Glasha alone, not forgetting Culainn.**

**The embassy is now going through their differences! Delphine is not a happy hen but will she stumble upon something so dreadful when spying on a Grandmaster Spy? **

**Chapter 15, Hero's Edge, uploaded soon!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	16. Hero's Edge

**Chapter 15**

**Hero's Edge**

Life was cruel, hard and unpredictable.

Glasha knew that from the moment she ran her home fifteen years ago. You may choose to head down one path which leads to another, and another, and another until you reach your destination and it's not what you hoped for.

Cruelty is in every mortals' mind, whether a healer in the Temple of Mara, a serial killer in the Imperial City, or a mercenary in Hammerfell. They judge, they hate, they intimidate, they fight, they kill because of the cruelty, either little or a lot in their minds, that leads to destruction - of life, thoughts or nature.

Life is hard because no matter how far you fall, you keep falling. When someone you hold dearly to your heart dies, you never feel more distant from the world around you. Those who insult you, they don't make it easier for you to stand up again. When a war devastates a land, crops are destroyed, houses ruined...it's hard to rebuild and return to the life that once seemed so perfect.

No Daedric Prince, god or king is as unpredictable as the lives of mortals. It's an ambush - springs out the moment you least expect it. Life doesn't care who or what you are, it will catch you by the throat and throw you into Oblivion. It has twists and turns that happens so fast, it takes time to understand. And Glasha was barely understanding this, she wasn't expecting it and she fell so far, she didn't think she could ever get up again.

Hero's Edge was a long, ragged and devious path. It lead high up into the Jerall Mountains, the wind whirled and whipped so hard it felt like knives stabbing into her face. The snow reached to her hips and she never moved them so much in her life to climb the path. At times, there was no rock to walk on and Glasha had to hug the wall and climb across until the path was reachable again.

She trekked onwards, searching for a cave. Many dotted along Hero's Edge, dug out by many adventurers before her. They provided good shelter to rest and evade the winds and snow. She found one, unloaded her pack and was immediately lighting a fire. The flames crackled into life as she pulled a blanket and bedroll from her pack and began heating her dinner by the fire.

Within a comfortably warm bed and belly full of hot soup, she sat with her back against the wall and began to cry. Tears streamed from her amber eyes and washed away her violet war paint. She never wept so much in her life and there was no one to comfort her.

Culainn, her first dog and closest friend, was killed ten hours before hand. Like this, they were resting in a cave, haven't seen another creature since they came upon Hero's Edge, and a wolf appeared outside. Its savage snarls and growls still echoed in her mind, its eyes were crimson and bloodthirsty lingered with her, and its coat was as black as midnight scared her.

Protective of his mistress, Culainn challenged the wolf, growling and barking. He charged at it and they fought outside the cave. Biting, snapping, ripping and yelping in pain. Glasha fumbled for her crossbow...but she couldn't fire. They were moving so fast, one second Culainn was there and the next, he wasn't. If she fired the bolt and hit her dog instead of the wolf, she could never forgive herself.

Suddenly, there was crumbling noise and the ground beneath Culainn and the wolf fell, and so did they. Glasha screamed and scrambled forward to look down the new chasm. Not ten feet down they lay on a ledge, bodies broken and limbs shattered. She heard a soft, high crying. Culainn!

She swiftly descended the wall to them. There, Culainn was still and he was not crying - the wolf was. Its eyes didn't seem so red now and its black fur didn't scare her. To put it out of its misery, Glasha unsheathed her dagger and plunged it into its heart.

She sobbed more as she remembered. Culainn was always loyal, was always at her side, was always there! But now, he was gone. Six years since she found him in the Great Forest of Cyrodil. For six years, he loved and protected her, and he died loving and protecting her.

Culainn was gone and she was all alone.

* * *

There were some corridors in Sky Haven rarely used. The torches were low and the shadows were long. The carvings on the walls seemed more realistic and bloodier. For some reason, Cicero liked - no, loved it.

_My name is Cicero. I am an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood. I joined twenty-six years ago. I am the Keeper. Maxima is my apprentice._

Simple sentences with simple words. It wasn't working! He felt himself slipping...

_...I am the Keeper. Maxima is my apprentice. I - I want to kill...to stab...to...laugh! Laugh! He he he he he!_

He giggled, uncontrollably, and bent over, hugging his stomach. He felt himself falling...into the void.

"_Oh, sweet Cicero. We missed you_!" chimed the high-pitched voice that belonged to the laughter.

_No!_

He knew that voice. He recognised it from his life before, when he was mad. "Who are you?" Cicero stammered. There was a drilling pain in his head, where the guard struck him not long ago.

"_Sweet Cicero! You got an awful blow to the head that day in Whiterun. He he he he he he! It almost killed you! Ha ha ha ha ha ha_! If Arí had not come." The voice changed to a darker, menacing tone. "_But, what can we do, hm? Mother knows, oh yes, Mother knows best_."

"You...know me?"

"_Know you? Know you! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Why, sweet Cicero, I am part of you_!"

Cicero's hands began to tremble and images from a long past returned. _No, what's...happening?!_

"_Oh, but I knew for years that you were slipping away. My suspicions were confirmed the night when that bitch arrived at the Sanctuary for the first time_.

"_We both thought the same - of touching her skin, stroking her hair, kissing her lips... But you were afraid_!

"_You! Foolish Cicero, selfish Cicero! You wanted her for yourself! You didn't want to share! So, you pushed her away so I wouldn't have her_!"

_Maxima..._

It was all coming back to him now. Why he insulted the Whiterun guard in the first place, because Mother told him to. _Mother! She spoke to me!_

"Share? Share! You think I want to share her with you! You're not even real, you're just a fragment of my imagination I created so I wouldn't be alone!"

Cicero was thrown by an unknown force across the corridor into the wall and slumped down to the floor, taking a torch with him.

"_Oh, but I'm very real, sweet Cicero_."

There was a man standing before him...blurry but Cicero could make out a few details. Judging by his attire of burgandy, the man was a clown, or a jester. Long, red hair sat on his shoulders and was crammed beneath his hat. The jester was smaller than an Imperial, but too tall to be a Breton. In fact, he was probably the same height as Cicero.

"You're not real. You can't be..."

"_Sweet Cicero thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him!" The voice wasn't in his head anymore, it was coming from the jester. "I am the Fool of Hearts! You see me, hear me and you can lay a hand on me! I am the Fool of Hearts and Mother sent me to take you back to the Void with me_!"

Cicero grabbed his ebony dagger at his waist, pulled it out of its scabbard and stabbed the jester in his heart.

"Fool of Hearts, I see you, hear you and I can lay a hand on you. With this blade, I kill you," he said, pushing the dagger further, "The Night Mother is mother is all her Children - the Dark Brotherhood. As a mother, She would want what's best for her Children. What makes you think you're any different? I created you and you're my child, like Mother before me, I kill you in service of Sithis, of Maxima...and of myself."

The jester shrieked. Cicero stabbed again and again and again. Blood splattered everywhere and stung his eyes. The jester shrieked and screamed until he was no more. Cicero fell to the ground, exhausted and relieved.

When Koren found him a little later, he was lying beside a dark pool of blood, giggling to himself.

"Cicero...! Is this...your blood?" the High Elf asked, shocked and confused.

"My blood? No. It doesn't matter who's blood it is, they're gone now and I can live in peace."

The Nightingale nodded sheepishly, helped the assassin onto his feet and brought him down to the Karth River to clean off the thick layer of blood.

* * *

The wind calmed down by the time she composed herself. The flames dwelled down to small embers, casting a warm, golden glow around the cave. Glasha wiped the last of her tears away and fastened the straps on her armour. Kicking earth into the fire that extinguished with a puff, she swung her bag over her shoulder and stepped outside.

Although the wind blew slightly, the snow continued to fall softly and the mist lifted, revealing a breath-taking landscape. Glasha took one look at it and trekked onwards.

Never in her life has she felt so torn from the world as she did now.

Her mission seemed futile now, but she was this close. Hero's Edge became steeper and steeper, and the Heart of the Jeralls was becoming closer and closer. There was no more wind as she approached a cave. It was unlike the other caves she had encountered before - there were two stone torches at either side of the mouth, flames still burning bright and fierce.

Glasha traipsed inside, pushing back her fur hood and gazed as torches lit up along a stone staircase. Akaviri stonework. She smirked to herself, imagining what Raynil's face would look like if he was here, and began climbing the many steps.

_1, 2, 3, 4..._

Esbern talked of trials, most likely tests of stealth, magic and strength as was the Akavir way of traps. Dar'Rathra, Raynil and Jorund were experts in those, and Glasha knew a bit of each.

_56, 57, 58, 59..._

What if she couldn't pass the trials? What if she fell to her death? Would there be some test involving her fatal flaw?

_100, 101, 102, 103..._

She knew her fatal flaw - her recklessness. When she was a bandit chief, she once sent thirty of her men into a cave to recover a magical sword. Of course, she didn't tell them of the vampires that dwelled within.

_164, 165, 166, 167..._

Only five returned, three of which had contracted the vampire disease. They were put to death immediately. Thirty men set out to the cave and only two lived.

_197, 198, 199, 200._

Two hundred steps. She turned and looked down the stairs. Row by row, the torches dimmed away to smoke and then, all was dark except the torch next to Glasha.

"Onwards then," she said to herself and continued her quest through a long, dark corridor.

* * *

The valley reminded her of big, round bowl with the way the three mountains formed it. There was a giant, straight crack running through it as though the bowl was snapped in half, placed back together but the crack wasn't filled in. She grabbed a torch from the wall and tossed it into the hole, watched it fall until she could no longer see its light.

Glasha whistled. "A long way down."

She looked across the way, where there once was a bridge. Only fragments remained and they appeared very brittle. Something bothered her and when something bothered Glasha, bad things happen. The Orc sat cross-legged, began eating a cooked chicken leg while examining the contents of her pack.

Bedroll, food, waterskin, extra blanket, matchbox, twenty feet of rope, some bandages and one of Dar'Rathra's inventions - his Jaw-Snapper. A bear-trap like device that's thrown at a dragon's leg, snaps shut around it and never opens again. It's chain was the same metal the Dwemer used, and after the many dragons they eliminated, it was invincible. It was also the heaviest of her gear, but the most essential.

She placed them neatly back into her bag and walked to the edge of the bridge.

Esbern talked of trials, but there were none so far. She walked for three hours in the dark corridor and encountered only a rat. Could he have been wrong? Glasha peered once more into the bowl, took three steps back and launched her across the bridge. The jump wasn't far and she landed safely on the other side.

Safely - if not for the rock crumbling beneath her weight, and the weight of her armour and bag. She fell into the bowl. Her backside landed with a thud on the hard surface and skidded down the slope towards the giants crack.

There was one thing that Glasha gra-Narzalbur feared the most and that was small, tight spaces.

As she dropped into that crack, she fell a dozen metres before the walls closed in and the bulk of her armour caused her to be stuck dangling there. There was another five metres to go to reach the bottom. The lights from the torches did not shine this far and she was left in total darkness.

Beads of sweat began gathering at the Orc's brow as she tried to wiggle herself free. The heart in her chest was racing and her hands were shaking. They fumbled towards the latches in her cuirass and managed to unbuckle them after many attempts. She fell...

CRR-RACK!

Pain shot through her right leg and she howled in pain. She observed her limb and seeing her ankle turned to the left, she gasped and cried. She carefully removed her boot and the skin on her foot was dark blue - almost black.

There was no way she could get back to Sky Haven. She travelled so far south she was in Cyrodil now. Her bag had fallen with her, and its contents were spilled out. There was one that caught her eye - the Jaw-Snapper.

At that moment, a dragon's roar echoed through the crack and was followed by another. Looking down the along the walls, she saw a bright, warm glow. Fire. Could Esbern have been wrong? Was this the only trial? To survive the fall? Now that she wondered, she noticed several bones scattered around the tight space.

Glasha pushed herself onto her good leg, scooped up Dar'Rathra's Jaw-Snapper and hopped down the tunnel to where she saw the flames. The walls opened wider and wider until she stumbled into a gigantic cave. The air here was warm, lush, green plants sprouted from the earth and water sprinkled from the walls. She breathed in and let out a sigh of relief. Her fear had passed, her heart calmed to a steady beat and her hands stopped shaking. Then, it dawned on her...

This was the Heart of the Jerall Mountains.

She gazed in amazement and awe until she came locked eyes with the dragon, lounging on a ledge. Esbern was wrong again. There wasn't two dragons, just one...with two heads. It was bigger than any other dragon she had seen, it's scales where dark violet and one pair of eyes were scarlet, the other were saffron.

Its heads Shouted, one of fire and the other of ice. Glasha readied herself, swinging the Jaw-Snapper, and dived behind a boulder as it Shouted at her. Fire and ice smothered the rock, and she was both hot and cold. She was afraid again. Her recklessness was her greatest flaw. She came here, on her own with barely enough equipment. Culainn was killed, her armour was lodged in the crack and she only had her dagger and Jaw-Snapper.

What if she failed and died?

No! She was an Orc. She was Glasha gra-Narzalbur. She was born and raised in the stronghold of Narzalbur. She was a bandit chief for five years before becoming a Blade. She defeated many dragons before this one and, in the name of Malacath, she wasn't going to allow some two-headed dragon-freak scare her.

Her amber eyes were glowing with rage and courage as she walked out from behind the boulder. The dragon glared and glowered at her. She swung and she swung the Jaw-Snapper, the dragon took flight and she threw it. She'd only ever used it once and it was with that little experience, she was confident in her throw. It struck true and caught the dragon's leg. It roared and flew higher, through a hole in the cave which led outside into the freezing wind and snow.

Glasha held on tight to the chain and was flung after the dragon. With her good leg, she kicked herself away from the cave walls when she came dangerously close, and her shoulder grazed off the rim of the hole, thee impact almost ripping her shoulder blade off.

She inhaled the cold, crisp air and tightened her grip on the chain. The dragon was flying very high, she could have seen the Imperial City if it wasn't so cloudy. It flew north, crossing the border into Skyrim and then, turned its course to the west.

West - towards Sky Haven Temple.

_End of Part Two_

* * *

**Hello again! Sorry for the wait, I had devoted most of my time to my short story - The Boy and the Deer...and also there was a certain candy crush game :P This was really fun to write, and I thought I might throw in Cicero. After reading that part, my parents are worried for me and my dad even called me 'crazy' which I don't think is...okay.**

**Part Two is over and done with! The beginning of Part Three, the final part, will be up until another little while as I'm heading to Spain tomorrow for a week. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


	17. Crisis At The Ice Mountain

**A/N: Just a quick warning. There'll be a lot of dying in this chapter, one being a minor. So, I'm rating this chapter as M, just as a precaution. Enjoy reading! :D**

* * *

**Part Three**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Crisis At The Ice Mountain**

The pool in the Ice Mountain was particularly warm that day when Dathlue skipped through the tunnels towards it. Her curly locks of silver bounced with the snowdrops in her hair. There was a bright, happy smile set upon her face and she slipped off her shoes and dipped her feet into the water.

She splashed and giggled to herself, playfully twirling the stem of a flower between her fingers. There was no one else in the cavern - as it was still early in the morning. The other children would be out to play later - they had chores to do.

"Good morning," said a cold, serious voice beside her. She looked up and met the eyes of a Tamrielian - the old Breton. Her silvery blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, she wore the simple, white robes of the Snow Elves and she carried a sword with a blue hilt at her waist.

Dathlue was greeted in the Tamrielian language and so, she answered in the Tamrielian language. "Hello," she whispered. Father had told her to be wary of the southern folk - be wary but polite.

"What's your name? I'm Delphine." The old woman sat next to her on the pool's rim. She lowered her hand into the water and swirled it around.

"Dathlue."

"Are you Katyr's daughter?"

"Yes," the young child replied, not meeting Delphine's eyes. There was something bad in them.

"You know, I'm a grandmaster too."

She glimpsed up and saw the smile on the Breton's face. Her eyes didn't show the smile though. "Really?"

"Yes, I lead a group called the Blades. We're dragon hunters..." It seemed Dathlue wasn't interesting in dragons. She most likely didn't know what a dragon was. "Your father... He wanted you to show me...it."

It? The young Snow Elf's eyebrows rose with curiosity. "He did?"

"Yes, he did. He said he was too busy to show me himself, but then he said you are big enough to show me."

Dathlue's face beamed with delight. Father said that? He trusted her to escort Delphine to it! "Ok! I'll take you there!" She grabbed the Breton's hand and yanked her into one of the tunnels. She knew the way well, she'd come this way thousand of times with Father and she wasn't afraid anymore.

First right, second left. Fourth left, and straight down the tunnel.

They reached the big, black stone door and Dathlue placed her hand on it. She carried Father's blood, and with that, the door lowered into the ground. She stepped inside, looking around for Baelon who didn't seem to be around.

"By the Nine," Delphine breathed as she followed the child inside. The army of ice struck her with awe and Dathlue smiled proudly to herself.

"Seven thousand nine hundred and thirty soldiers."

"Soldiers?" She looked down at her, shocked as though the awe wasn't enough to take in.

"Yes, it's Queen Aranel's army."

"By the Nine..." she repeated. The child showed little to no fear, no awe like - like she's been here many times before.

"Dathlue, what is the army for?"

That proud smile still remained on the child's face. "The Queen wants an empire like the one in Tamriel."

An empire?! This was far worse than she thought. "What about the treaty? Will she not abide to it?" She turned quickly as the black door behind her closed shut. Katyr stood there with two other Snow Elves - all three armed to the teeth in Falmer armour.

The Grandmaster's eyes were shooting daggers at the Breton. "My daughter, human? Even for your kind, using a child is - what's that word? - inhuman."

She grabbed Dathlue by the collar of her dress and pulled her closer, unsheathing her Blade's sword and hovering it by the Snow Elf's throat. "Desperate times call for desperate actions. Particularly when your Queen wishes to invade Tamriel."

"No, my Queen doesn't wish to invade Tamriel. This army will and with your Dragonborn commanding it, we will take back the land that once was ours!"

She would have more Elves bring the Empire to its knees! She lost to many friends and people she cared about to the Altmer. She closed, and screamed, "No!", and jerked her arm with the sword in her hand.

With a clean swipe, Delphine sliced open Dathlue's throat. The child fell to her knees, coughing and choking. She brought her small hands up to the cut, feeling the warm blood spill out, and looked at her crimson hands.

"Father...?" she choked, more blood gurgling in her mouth. She fell into his arms, clinging onto life.

"Father... I am...sorry," she said, tears flowing down her soft cheeks and mixing with her blood. Katyr held her bloodied hand in his.

"No, flower. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have showed you the army. You're too young to understand. I..." A cry escaped from his lips. His daughter, his little girl, his flower was dying.

She continued to choke and cough as she placed her hand on his cheek, her young eyes saying farewell. Her body went limp in his arms and her arm dropped, leaving a blood print of her hand. With trembling fingers, he closed her eyes and kissed her forehead. He noticed she was holding something in the hand he held. A snowdrop. Her favourite flower. Katyr made a noise between a cry and a scream.

"Flower... Flower..." he whimpered, gripping tightly onto the soft cloth of her dress. His shoulders shuddered and shook as he wept.

Delphine gazed down at her sword, still wet with the child's blood. What have I done? She could have started a war, she could have doomed all those back home in Tamriel. She felt a pain build up in her chest, a pain of grief and regret. She breathed in sharply, dropped her sword and watched as Dathlue's blood spread down her fingers.

Then she felt a harsher, physical pain in her stomach. She gasped as Katyr plunged his blade further into her until it reached its hilt. Their eyes met, his full of revenge and sorrow. She didn't fight back or stab him. She sank to the floor, pulled out his dagger, yelping slightly, and returned it to him.

"Baelon, send word to the Queen. The time to strike Tamriel is now."

Katyr wiped his dagger clean off the Breton's robes, sheathed it and picked up the body of his daughter. What was he going to tell his wife?

* * *

The flat bread, smothered in melted cheese was delicious! Arí ate it savagely, down to the very last crumb. The great hall was quiet, only Aranel, Arí, Vilkas and Gelebor ate their breakfast there as it was still fairly early in the morning. The odd servant walked through the hall, carrying more drink and food or delivering a message to Her Majesty as she ate on her dais.

Tiawyn left twenty minutes before hand, eating a slice of toasted bread and then rushing off to learn more secrets of the Falmer magic in the library. Karliah was gone by the time they arrived, and Hadvar and Eorlund were still asleep.

The Dragonborn longed another two as Nazir sat beside him, bearing a plate of Potage Le Magnifique. He shared a look with Arí and the two men bellowed with laughter. Across from them, Vilkas raised an eyebrow.

"I take it this is a personal joke," he mumbled, downing some ale.

"You have no idea," Arí replied. Nazir dropped his head onto the table, trying not to laugh. Vilkas shook his head, scooped up his bowl of vension stew and walked away from them, sitting at another table with Gelebor. The Snow Elf didn't look at him but his eyes were staring past his shoulders.

"What?" the Companion asked, turned in his seat and followed his gaze towards the dais. A smirk formed on his face. "Queen Aranel is looking well today, ain't she, Gelebor?"

He jumped out of his daze. "Sorry?"

Vilkas continued to smirk. "Queen Aranel?"

"What about her?" he replied, now very interested in the leftover food on his plate.

"You befriended her, didn't you?" the Nord said, winking.

"Yes, I successfully did."

"A little bit more than successfully."

Gelebor dropped his hands down onto the table with a small bang. "What are you talking about, Vilkas?"

He leaned close so no one could here his next few words. "You fancy her, don't you?"

"Fancy her? What in Auri-El's name are talking about?!"

"You like her! Admit it, Gel, you haven't taken your eyes off her since you came for breakfast."

The Elf straightened in his chair, trying not to glimpse at said queen. "Of course not! I'm merely...admiring her...crown."

"Clearly more than her crown - Agh!" he yelled as Gelebor kicked him beneath the table.

"Fine, I've taken...a liking to Queen Aranel but yesterday...she was different."

Vilkas, rubbing his shin, gave him a questionable look. "Different how?"

"She asked me about my life in the Chantry, how I protected it from the Betrayed. Aranel - she smiled...at me."

"Your heart leaped for joy then - Ow! That was my hand, Gel!"

"My sincere apologies. No, I've seen Aranel smile at me hundred of times before but yesterday, her smile...was different. As though, it belonged to someone else."

It belonged to you, I say, Vilkas though mentally. "Are you saying that wasn't Aranel?"

Gelebor shrugged. "Maybe - I don't know. It's a bizarre thought."

"What about Lytria then-"

A spike of ice flew through the great hall and smashed into one of the giant vase of flowers, shattering it. Another one followed it, striking home in one of Aranel's servant's chest. The Queen screamed and covered her face as the ice exploded.

In a flash, Vilkas was on his feet, gripping tightly onto Wuuthrad, and sprinted to Aranel's side. "Are you alright, Your Majesty?" She lowered her hands from her face and stared at them, her skin cut from the shards.

"Nothing serious, Vilkas. Where's Lytria?"

Gelebor stood at the bottom of the dais. "Get her away from here, Vilkas!"

Arí and Nazir, seeing the ice spike fly past them, stood ready in front of the doors with their swords unsheathed and ready for what was to watched as Karliah burst into the hall from the main doors, cladded in her Nightingale armour. Her mask was torn to shreds and her hood and cloak ripped. She yelled as she drew an arrow on her bow and let it loose, shooting a Redguard, covered in fur and leather armour, between his dark eyes as he came running after her.

"What in Oblivion is going on?!" Arí demanded, crouching down to examine the fallen Redguard. His gear was wet and there were small crystals of ice still clinging onto the fur.

"The island...is under attack," Karliah began replying, panting for her breath. "I was down at the docks when they came out of the caves by there. They're taking hostages, killing anyone who fights back or who denies going with them...and the Tamrielians here. Arí, they heading towards the palace. I ran when I-"

A Dunmer mage ran into the great hall, throwing an Ice Spike at Karliah, catching her in her right arm. She dropped her bow and cried out in pain. Nazir charged forward, twirling his scimitars with his wrists and plunged them into the mage's chest. He gasped with a hoarse voice and fell from the curved blades, staining the steel with his scarlet blood.

He and Arí bolted the doors shut as Gelebor darted to Karliah, examining her graze. The ice cut right through her armour and into her skin to the bone. Tears had welled up in her indigo eyes. Gelebor hovered his hand over it and summoned his magic to heal it. A soft, golden light glowed as her pain dulled away. He stopped before the cut was fully healed.

"I need all my Magicka to fight, Karliah," he said to her confused look. "Don't worry, I'll finish healing it later." She nodded. He ripped some cloth from the hem of his tunic and wrapped it around it. She grabbed her bow and he helped her up.

"Where's Tiawyn?"

"With the mages in the library," Arí answered. "We have to find Hadvar, Eorlund and Delphine."

The four joined Vilkas and Aranel at the dais. The queen's hands shook from the shock.

"Lytria? Have you seen my sister?" she asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

"I don't know, Your Majesty. She's probably with Lord Faeron," Nazir said hastily.

"Lord Faeron? I don't understand..."

"We believe he's the one trying to usurp your throne...and the invaders, they're Tamrielians and they're killing Tamrielians. Your Majesty, I think they may under his...influence," Arí explained.

She frowned. "Under his influence?"

"When I faced Gelebor's brother, he controlled the Betrayed. I don't know whether it was his vampiric powers or some lost ancient Snow Elf magic but I've a feeling Faeron can do the same."

Aranel closed her eyes, struggling to let out the truth. "You're wrong. The Tamrielians are not invaders, they're...my army."

Everyone gaped at her. She raised her hands. "Let me explain. My father, he feared for the safety of his people - my people. When Tamrielians found our island they were always executed and he changed that. We Snow Elves, what we are now - we are not warriors. Yes, I have a network of spies but no army of Snow Elves. Centuries ago, our mages found forgotten documents on magic how to fully freeze and revive living creatures. They also contained how to put those creature under one's influence - as you had put it, Arí. My father captured Tamrielians and turned them into his army, an army of bandits, pirates and the occasional soldiers. They were to protect us if we were suddenly attacked or invaded. You have to understand, they are only to protect us."

They stood in an awkward silence until Karliah nodded. "I understand. Faeron is using Her Majesty's army to take over the throne. Who else has control over your army, Your Majesty?"

"Myself, Grandmaster Katyr and Ar - Lytria."

The Dunmer turned to her companions. "Now we know for sure Lytria is aiding Faeron."

Queen Aranel frowned. "Lytria? What does she have to do with this?"

"If Faeron takes the throne, she will be his queen, Your Majesty. It's a much higher position than she has now."

Vilkas stomped his boot, causing all of them to jump. "Well, I say we should get out of here before we are overrun by bandits and pirates," he said, with an amused smirk on his face.

"Aye, we'll head straight for our chamber - Hadvar and Eorlund should be there," Arí began, "Actually, Nazir and Vilkas, both of you head there." The two men nodded and headed to the side door into the tunnels. "Your Majesty, is there a safe place you can hide?"

"Yes, at the peak. Only the royal family know of it."

"Gelebor, take her there."

The knight-padalin saluted him by placing his fist to his heart and bowing his head. "Meet us there, Arí." He turned to Aranel and gestured her to lead the way. She gave Arí and Karliah a thankful look before leaving.

"Where are we going?" the Nightingale asked Arí as the silence in the hall deafened them.

"We're going to get Tiawyn and find where Delphine is."

* * *

The library was deserted, some books were scattered across the floor, several of the tall shelves were torn down and chairs and tables were stacked around a small corner like a fort. Karliah sighed deeply when she laid her indigo eyes on a dead Snow Elf woman, her neck twisted in an unnatural angle. If Aranel's army was killing any who resisted them and all the Tamrielians, gods only know were Tiawyn was.

"This is a disaster," Arí muttered, pulling a chair out of the fort and tossing away. Karliah stepped out of its path, pursing her lips as she was about to curse at him and wincing at the pain in her pain. Damn Aranel's army, she couldn't use her bow - just her dagger.

"She can take very good care of herself, Arí. I'm sure she's still alive-" She dived to the side as a upturned table slid across the floor.

"You think so?" He sounded so uncertain and she gave him a confident smile, "I know so." The Dragonborn smiled back before kicking the discarded furniture forward, finally making a path inside the makeshift fort.

If they were smart as they said they were, the Snow Elf mages would have gone with the army. Faeron wasn't stupid - he would tucked the Elves somewhere isolated in the mountain before assassinating Aranel.

Finding Tiawyn was easy. As they walked to the centre of the cornered off area, they heard a giggle from atop one of the shelves. The Wood Elf dropped to the floor, tumbling forward when she hit the ground.

"You've know idea how happy I am to see you!" she exclaimed as she flung her arms around both their neck. Karliah patted her back and gently pushed back to gaze at her face.

Her cheek was slightly swollen from a punch she took earlier, a faint tint of black below her eyes. The robe she usually wore was abandoned from the amount of rips and tears on it. She simply wore a light grey tunic and black leggings, tucked neatly inside her ankle-high boots. She wasn't even half as bad as Karliah.

"Are you okay?" the Dunmer asked, her fingers hovering over the bruise.

Tiawyn scoffed, "I'm fine. Nothing more than I could handle. They were...Tamrielians though and they took the mages away - I don't know where though. We made the fort when a messenger came running, calling for help. They came and...the mages told me to hide. They didn't put up much of a fight, she did though," she said, nodding towards the dead Snow Elf, "They left shortly before you came. You didn't see them?"

"We came from the great hall," Arí replied. "We have to find Delphine and get to the Queen's safe room at the peak."

"I saw Aranel in that cave with all the gems before I came here," Tiawyn informed them. They gave her a confused look which she returned.

"Aranel?"

"Yes, she greeted me in the cave and we spoke a little until I excused myself to leave. She seemed quite concerned over something."

"Aranel..." Arí began, "Was with us all morning in the great hall. Gelebor took her to the peak..."

"You are mistaken, Arí." It was the same majestic, soft voice that spoke so clearly whenever she addressed her people. They turned to the door where the Queen stood, wearing a loose tunic and breeches. In her hand, she held the sword she always carried at her waist, its silver and ebony metal stained with red blood.

Karliah, her eyes narrowed with puzzlement, spoke first. "But you...were having breakfast in the great hall. I saw you there myself."

Aranel shook her head. "No, that was Lytria. We often...change Positions. She takes my place as queen while I enjoy a few days of freedom. We occasionally did this as children - she would pretend to be me during my daily lessons while I played with the other children as her."

"So... She didn't unleash your army?" Arí concluded. She sighed and nodded. "I know she didn't. Despite the threat of the usurpation of my throne, my sister will remain loyal to me to the very end. If she didn't do it, only Katyr remains who has the power to but, like her, he is extremely loyal and won't be foolish enough to...after what happened to his daughter."

Everyone knew Dathlue and the three of them asked what had occurred.

Again, Aranel sighed. "Your friend, Delphine, she...killed the child when she encountered the army." She gasped and burst into tears. Tiawyn stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her and the Queen cried into her shoulder.

"By the Nine..." Arí breathed. Delphine did something like that? What would possess her to kill an innocent child?! "Do you know where she is?"

"Yes, Katyr told me she was left in the chamber where we keep the army. Come, I'll show you the way."

* * *

The air was colder than she could appreciate and the remaining ice was no help. With a shaking hand, she pressed it against her side, feeling the warm blood ooze through her fingers. If Katyr was meant to kill he could have done a better job. The pain was unbearable, in her wound and in her heart.

She killed a child.

Acted stupidly, foolishly. She didn't know what came over her to slice open Dathlue's throat. Was it the thought of war? War she tried to prevent but caused? Another war. What good would that do to Tamriel? The Dominion would take that opportunity to control the Empire and all would be lost. Humanity would be - no, will be reduced to nothing but slavery.

What has she done?!

"Delphine?" a warm, strong hand rested against her shoulder. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled.

"If I knew the Dragonborn would be by my side as I die, I would have worn my armour."

Arí chuckled, barely covering the sad, concerned look on his face. Standing behind him was Karliah, Tiawyn and Aranel.

She met the Snow Elf's eyes, seeing the anger in them. "I ask for your forgiveness. I don't know what I was thinking..." Aranel smiled, but the anger lingered.

"There is nothing I could've done but you are forgiven."

"I thought Katyr would have killed me instantly," Delphine commented.

"He's one that likes to see his enemies suffer."

"I'm an enemy, am I?" She looked back at Arí as the first tears spilled from his eyes. "Oh, don't cry. I had a good run. Fought in the Great War, killed a few dragons with you," He smiled at that, "And you helped me reform the Blades. Arí, without knowing it, both you and me, you gave me my life back. You gave me purpose in life. I thank you for recruiting me into your embassy and bringing me on one last adventure."

"I never recruited you, Delphine, you decided to recruit yourself," he said, chuckling at the memory. She laughed quietly too, but groaned at the pain in her side.

"Stay with me until I go," she pleaded while grabbing his arm. His smile widened. "Until you reach Sovengard."

She scoffed at him. "I'm a Breton, Arí, not a Nord. But the idea is...soothing." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

They waited in silence, Tiawyn weeping softly into Karliah's shoulder. The anger in Aranel's eased away to sympathy - the Breton truly regretted murdering Dathlue. Arí kept his promise, singing sweet songs and holding her close to him. If it wasn't for her and Esbern, he would never have defeated Alduin, saved Nirn from the World-Eater's fury...and he thanked everyday to the Divines that she was the one who took Jurgen Windcaller's horn, leading him to her.

"Thank you, Arí, for giving me friends and a new family. Even the enemies along the way," Delphine said, glimpsing up at Aranel.

"You're welcome, you're always so very welcome," he replied, lifting her chin up to look at her face. But she was gone. Karliah gasped, Tiawyn broke down with more tears and crying, and Aranel bowed her head.

Arí stood, blinking back his own tears. "Here, she may have been a villain but in Tamriel, she will always be a hero." He turned his back on them and walked away. Aranel knelt forward and summoned her Magicka deep within her. With a wave of her hands, she froze Delphine's body in a clear block of ice and healed the wound Katyr inflicted in the process. She straightened onto her feet, meeting Karliah's eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, patting the still crying Tiawyn on the back with her good hand.

"Now," Aranel said rather loudly, making the other two women jump, "I want to know how my army was unleashed."

"I thought you might know," Arí answered.

"I don't. Katyr would have come straight to me first and Lytria was in the great hall."

The Queen turned to Tiawyn when she mumbled something. "What?"

"Faeron."

She narrowed her eyes at the Bosmer. "Faeron? You think Faeron has something to do with this? Yes, he threatened your lives at the College but why would he try to usurp my throne? He's my advisor and most trusted friend."

Karliah spoke then. "Anyone can be two-faced, Aranel. I, out of all people, should know that and I'm telling you now: suspect everyone...including your sister."

A glare was shot at her. "What does Lytria has to do with this?"

"She's to be married Faeron, isn't she? Kill you, she becomes queen and Faeron king. It's hard to see how she isn't involved in this." Karliah shrugged. Aranel considered this and pointed a finger at her.

"I hope you're wrong."

* * *

Gelebor stormed through the tunnels, following her directions. She was quiet behind him and whenever he looked back at her, a mask of uncertainty covered her face. She hadn't said a word since they left Arí, Karliah, Vilkas and Nazir in the great hall.

The silence between them was unbearable for him. The Aranel he knew wasn't this quiet, she was usually chatty particularly when she was nervous. He felt like he was right when he said to Vilkas earlier how he thought the smile she gave him belonged to someone else.

He stopped suddenly and took her hands. "Aranel..." he breathed, his stomach leaping into his mouth as he said her name.

"Don't call me that," she muttered, not raising her eyes to his face. They were staring down at her hands in his.

"What?" Why was she so...not like herself. "Aranel - Your Majesty, is...is everything alright?"

She sniffled. "I'm not Aranel, Gelebor. I'm Lytria." Her head lifted and he looked deep into her eyes. Slowly, he let go and dropped his hands to his side. In the soft glow of the candlelight he conjured, her white features standing out. She reached and pulled the wig from her head, revealing short, silver hair.

"Forgive me, Princess Lytria, I thought... My actions were very intimate... I-"

"Gelebor," she whined, bending forward and clutching her stomach. He placed his hand on her shoulder and dropped onto one knee.

"Lytria - Your Highness, are you ill?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. He watched as she brought her hand up, gazing at the blood on her fingers in shock.

"Gelebor," she whimpered, her voice quivering with fear, "I believe I'm miscarrying Faeron's child."

* * *

**By far my longest chapter yet!**

**Welcome to Part Three of Rise of the Snow Elves! The final chapters are among us and the climax is drawing near.**

**Dathlue and Delphine are dead, I know. :'( I'm sorry but that's how things turned out to be. And Lytria? How did that turn out? Bit of a cliffhanger, eh? What else...? Oh yes, we're taking a break from the crew back at Sky Haven but we'll pick with them again later.**

**What did you think? Good? Bad? How about you tell me in a review? :D**

**Mise le meas**

**-Aeon**


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